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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25952632">Until You Feel The Music Move</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogsy_Feel/pseuds/Fogsy_Feel'>Fogsy_Feel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Dance montages in written format, Dancer Dean, Dancer Draco Malfoy, Dancer Harry Potter, Dancer Seamus, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, It's like so small, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Pining Draco Malfoy, Romance, Ron is eleven with a crush and doesn't have a large part after the first 2 chapters, Slow Burn, The first two chapters are the movie, The rest is ballet school au, billy elliot au, one sided Ron Weasley/Harry Potter - Freeform, probably not historically accurate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:40:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25952632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogsy_Feel/pseuds/Fogsy_Feel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hears police sirens. He hears protests and screaming. He hears music.<br/>It's 1984 and within his small Durham town the start of the rest of Harry's life begins. Ballet, boys, miners and mourning. How can he learn to cope with his family on the brink, his identity up in the air, and his one true passion out of his reach.</p><p>—</p><p>A Billy Elliot AU. A story about identity, passion, family and romance~</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter &amp; Dean Thomas &amp; Seamus Finnigan, Harry Potter &amp; Molly Weasley, Harry Potter &amp; Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter &amp; Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Bang A Gong (Get It On)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>These first two chapters are the movie and some extra stuff. The rest is ballet school, romance and growing up.</p><p>Harry's Parent and home life is written like this with these characters because I felt like it. (also because I felt like it fit better than any other alternatives and I have stuff planned for the other characters.) </p><p>Warning: swearing- homophobic slurs (Not the F one) probably not historically accurate though I tried. I've never set foot in England and have no idea what the school was like in 1985 so oh well!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry finds his passion. How will this young boy from Everignton work his way towards his dream.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>There was a time before. There <em> had </em> to have been. He knows this as he knows most things no one ever told him so. Before was a definite, secured in the vast river of his life but even for this of his he couldn’t remember it.</p><p>That was to be expected in most, children hardly remembered early childhood. This just made him feel odd, a puzzle with missing pieces. It was as if he had no memories. No past. All he could possibly draw from is stills. His past is lined up in images. Photographs of the mind though they all seem so distant. He knows they're the only things that he can really count as <em>memories</em> from the before. They don't feel like memories though. Memories move.</p><p>He can almost see these mind paintings. They're factual in that sense. He knows that<em> then </em> he was happy and <em> there </em> he scraped a knee but <em> he </em> never did those things, not when he can’t remember them.</p><p> </p><p>What he <em>can</em> remember is when he turned on. When a switch flipped. When he truly came into existence and became <em> Harry</em>.</p><p> </p><p>As important as it was there were some things wrong about the memory. His mother's hair had seemed much darker within it and he distinctly remembers sitting in the blue car his mother hadn’t actually bought until a few years after the memory even happened.</p><p>He figured his memory just trimmed out the unimportant parts and stitched them back together later, <em> becoming </em> must have been difficult at first.</p><p> </p><p>They had been in a car. Harry hadn’t known how old he was at the time but he would guess around five. His Mother had been crying. Sobbing in the front seat. His Father had just died...he hadn’t known that either. In the end not remembering him was probably for the best.</p><p>Small Harry wasn’t paying attention to her though. He cried all the time so it wasn’t anything new. What was new was the <em> noise </em>.</p><p>He thinks the noise is what switched him on. The distinctive noise of the car radio with which he could hear <em> music </em>.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t remember the song. It was about love or war or something. </p><p>It was exhilarating. Violins and orchestras put together by a lass with the voice of an angel. She sings and his mother screams. He thinks the song screamed too. The music had filled the car like water. </p><p>He didn’t know noise could be cold. He didn’t know a lot of things.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks it’s a pretty bitter memory. A quintessentially sad becoming. The music stuck this instance to his mind, kicked it awake. It was the start of his past.</p><p> </p><p>There <em>was</em> a before. An image of an old house. A cat. There were three before five before four. But the before never happened. Not in any ways that mattered.</p><p>Harry thinks he feels time scattered, little pieces he picks up and discard to remember later. He’s glad to know that there was a before. </p><p> </p><p>For the first time in a long time he can tell this is the <em>now</em>. A new first memory. The second becoming. He knows. He can hear <em> music </em>.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Harry found himself starting most of his days doing things he was not supposed to. He was aware of the arse kicking he’d get if his older brother found out he was using his records without permission. He wasn’t scared though. It was hard to be when music surrounded him and he just <em> had </em> to move.</p><p>There was no tact in the way he flung his arms up in the air as he jumped on an old springing mattress. A child like smile on his face even though above the music he could almost hear chanting and sirens.</p><p> </p><p>He had this routine like clockwork. Cedric and Amos would leave by early dawn leaving Harry enough time to pretend he was on a trampoline. He’d stay like that until the egg timer rang from the kitchen. He’d skip every other step in a hurry to get the boiled eggs out of the cloudy water and into the holders.</p><p>He was quite proud of his ability to catch flying toast on a plate. He kept this particular skill to himself though. He was sure his Dad wouldn’t find it too funny and Cedric would just roll his eyes like he had better things to worry about.</p><p> </p><p>Some days his routine had to swerve though. Some days he’d wake up to find his grandmother missing.</p><p>“<em>Grandma</em>!” He yelled out. His breath heaving due to his fast run up the steep hills. Everington was full of hills.</p><p> </p><p>He found her wondering about the tall grass that led to the sea. He shivered in the cold and was glad she’d wandered off with her beanie still on.</p><p>He touched the back of her shoulder slowly but she still jumped in surprise. She looked at him like he was a stranger.</p><p>“Grandma your eggs…” he spoke softly but she still looked confused.</p><p>He sighed and grabbed her hands. “I—It’s Harry.”</p><p>She let out a ‘o’ and let him walk her back home.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Harry liked to watch everyone walk into the boxing hall before he did. He stood outside the Everington Boys Club with his granddad's old boxing gloves hanging round his shoulders. He banged the door against the trashcan lazily while boys he knew were bound to knock him in the face in half an hour walked past without a care.</p><p>Ron sat himself upon the bin eating a jam sandwich. He swung his legs and eyes the boys that walked past up and down.</p><p>“You sure you not coming in?” Harry asked.</p><p>“Nah it’s a load of bollocks.”</p><p>“No it’s not.”</p><p>“I don’t know why you even go in, you're gonna get kicked in.” Ron spoke truthfully.</p><p> </p><p>Harry looked around and grunted as a boy pushed past him. “Why are you even out here then?”</p><p>“Mum and sis are in there.”</p><p>“Why?” Harry questioned.</p><p> </p><p>Ron shrugged but answered.  “There using downstairs as a soup kitchen for the miners. Moody’s letting Mum have half of the boxing ‘all.”</p><p>"For what?"</p><p>"Her Ballet classes you arse."</p><p>Harry paused. "Why would anyone do Ballet?"</p><p>He shrugged again. "You can ask Ginny that but she'd tell you it was bollocks too."</p><p> </p><p>Harry waited but no other boys came towards the door. “I better go up.”</p><p>Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah you better.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Harry liked boxing. It wasn’t <em> his </em> fault no one liked the way <em>he</em> boxed. He liked to swerve around the other boy. Lean backwards and forwards like they did on the telly. He liked to bounce back from the rope barrier, bend his knees to squat down. What he <em> didn’t </em> like was the punching part. He didn’t really know why. The other boys looked like they had fun when they did it. God knows Harry would love to pay back the times all the other boys had hit him.</p><p> </p><p>But he never did, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to start now.</p><p>The other boy was smaller than him. Harry had never really tried the normal way before. He’d wanted to, he knew Amos was watching from behind the barrier.</p><p>He’d tricked himself into thinking he would today. Maybe he actually would have if not for the ballet class across the halls.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t see the girls but they weren’t the ones that were interesting anyway. They were blocked off by mirrors. What <em>was</em> distracting was the piano. The music. It echoed throughout the hall and met his eardrums pleasantly. It sounded nothing like the old piano they had back home.</p><p>He could have sworn the music made him move.</p><p>Moody growled from behind him. “Harry! This is man to man combat, not some bloody tea time dance!”</p><p>Harry would have argued he technically wasn't a '<em>man" </em>yet.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment he thought the other boy looked intimidated, but in hindsight maybe he was just confused. His upturned lip and slight grimace reminded Harry of someone he hadn't met yet. No though of his really mattered in the end as a shiny boxing glove met Harry's face in an uncomfortable<em> smush</em> of pain. His fate was soon resigned to boxing bags. Harry could almost see Amos rubbing his forehead in disappointment. Familiar words echoed in his ear as Moody swore.</p><p>“Jesus Christ Harry, you're a disgrace to them gloves, your father and the traditions of this boxing hall.”</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Harry doesn't know why he tricks himself into thinking he liked <em> this</em>. How does anyone like this?</p><p>Moody walked over and dropped the halls keys into his hand like he did most days. “Stay here until you get that punch right. Give the keys to Mrs Weasley after.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry didn’t wait much longer before he shrugged off his instructions and made his way past the mirrors to Mrs Weasley.</p><p>The piano was louder past the make shift barrier. </p><p>“Okay girls, left hand on the barre.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry had never seen a ballet class before. He’d always just assumed it was a bunch of girls in tutus prancing around. Well they <em> were </em> in tutus. He watched them all move their legs back and forth trying to keep up with the piano and Mrs Weasley's instructions. A few girls looked like they were in pain. Harry found this odd. He didn't understand. Some of the girls weren't very good but some of the girls moves a bit like swans. It was a weird sight. He made his way to the barre where Molly had leaned herself to light a cigarette.</p><p>“Miss the keys?” He held them up.</p><p>She took a puff and paid him no mind. “<em>Not</em> <em>now</em>. Positions girls! Piano man—The sun will come out tomorrow”</p><p> </p><p>She walked off and left him there. He stood there confused for a moment as he watched the girls lean themselves forward on the barres and come back up with their arms in the air. He walked along the barre before stopping in front of a familiar figure. Ginny was there practising on the opposite side of him. He didn’t know much about ballet but he would have thought that the teacher's daughter would have been the best in the class. She clearly wasn’t as she quickly stopped her practise and turned to him.</p><p>“Why don’t you join in?”</p><p>“...Nah” He answered slowly.</p><p>She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "Suite yourself."</p><p> </p><p>He found himself on her side of the bar. He followed the movements of girl in front of him and her movements, she was much better than Ginny but much harder to follow. He was trying to replicate her straight pointed foot but his boots didn’t seem to want to bend that way. He didn’t like how loud his feet were compared to the girls.</p><p>Mrs Weasley didn’t seem to like it either as she walked up to him and stepped on his foot. </p><p>“Boots off! What size are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Harry noticed some of the girls stares and tried to back himself out. “Miss the keys.”</p><p>She walked off. “Just a second.”</p><p>He didn’t really want to fight himself or Miss on the matter. He promptly leaned down to untie his boots. In a few swift seconds he saw something drop next to him. Off white ballet shoes taunted him from the floor while Mrs Wealey taunted him from above. </p><p>“Go on. I <em>dare</em> you.”</p><p>Harry didn't know if he complied to spite her or himself. He guessed either way it didn't really matter. His feet were quieter with the shoes and he felt as if he had the pointed toe thing going pretty well. What he didn't realise was how pronounced it made his mistakes look. Every wobble of his leg and stomp of his foot looked competently out of what the shoes seemed to expect of him. What he had expected of himself.</p><p> </p><p>Holding his leg up high was hard. It shook and trembled and was almost painful. He didn’t really realise how hard  this act was though until he was the only one with their leg still up left in the air.</p><p>"Hold. Hold It! come on wheres your confidence?"</p><p>Miss walked past him and eyed his posture. He felt the urge to shrivel away. Laugh off how hard he was really trying. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him and he was about to drop when Mrs Wesley commented.</p><p>“What do we have here?”</p><p> </p><p>She leaned down and lifted his leg up higher. “Heel out. Drop your hip.”</p><p>He scrunched up his face but complied.</p><p>“Arch.” She twisted his leg slightly.</p><p>She examined him for a second before letting his leg fall. “Class dismissed.”</p><p><br/>
Harry stood there in silence for a moment. He looked down at his aching leg relived to be on the ground one again. He looked around before lifting it up once more. He never thought a leg could look pretty. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Harry kept the ballet class on his mind. He tried not to. Attempted to dismiss it. Try as he might though it was impossible.</p><p>Nothing had even <em>really</em> happened. Nothing noteworthy anyway. He couldn’t say much about it really. But the memory stuck. Very specific details like it was all important. He could picture how the room looked n the afternoon light, remember how sweat glistened off of nearly everyone in the hot hall.</p><p>The weirdest thing to come out of it though was that he found himself throughout random moments of the day with his leg pointed out. His toes seemed to point themselves and his undefined bony hips dropped when he walked. Sometimes Ron would look at him weirdly when he stared at his legs under the school desks. This because he'd find himself arching it out like Miss had shown him during nearly all hours of the day.</p><p>It was nothing—just a particularly prominent memory.</p><p> </p><p>His Grandma told the same story every time they walked to his mother's grave. He’d never paid attention until now though. </p><p>“Fred Astaire was your Mams favourite. Oh how we’d tap and dance our feet along with him to the tune.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry wondered if his Mother liked music the way he does. He would like to think she did. He knows the piano in their small living room was a wedding gift to her. </p><p>Lilly Evans had married Amos Diggory nearly a year after Harry’s father had died. Harry was unlucky enough to inherit the last names of all of his parents. Having four names made him feel like a right priss. The Potter didn't even feel like it fit. It was as foreign as the memories of his long dead father were.</p><p> </p><p>Harry stopped trying to direct his Grandma to the proper grave. If she realised that her daughter in laws headstone had been graffitied she would have just gotten upset.</p><p>He spat on his jean jacket and tried to rub it off to no avail. It muddied up the words Lilly Evans-Diggory. </p><p>Harry never visited his biological father's grave. He never had the opportunity nor the need to. He doesn’t even remember the man, not even his mind images or dreams. He thinks that means his dad was a miner. Only miners' children never saw their dads for long in Everington.</p><p> </p><p>Amos was the man Harry considered to be his actual dad. He's a miner too... or was one. It's hard to tell these days. Whose a scab, whose with the union. Harry doesn't keep track of it. He kind of wished his Dad could go back into the mines. There was too much yelling up top and a lot of police around. </p><p>He doesn’t even know why Amos still keeps giving him boxing money when both Cedric and him are out on strike. He was kind of wishing for an excuse to stop.</p><p> </p><p>He lied in his bed that night. A shared Room with Cedirc who had previously slapped him on the head for using his record. Harry just laid there and thought. He thought about his mother, who had been so devastated by a death the memory had planted itself into the music of his mind. He thought about James Potter, a man he’d never really met but shared a name with. A man who was said to have shared a stark resemblance to his son. The son he dies on. The son who wasn't his son anymore.</p><p>“Cedric...Do you ever think about death?”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>Harry sighed. “Night then.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ginny walked along the street with him. A stick she'd found knocked against <em> Strike Now </em>posters and found its way against a wall of police shields. He found it strange how easy everyone had adjusted to the sight of it.</p><p>“You know a bunch of boys do ballet.”</p><p>He scoffed. “What boys do ballet?”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “None <em> here</em>. There all too wuss but loads of men do. Their proper athletes you know, much better than your boxing anyway.”</p><p>“Says you, your proper shite at ballet.”</p><p>“Your proper shite at boxing.”</p><p>“Boxing's Hard.”</p><p>“It’s just punching Harry. <em> Ballet </em> on the other hand takes years of practise. you have to start young and stick to it”</p><p> </p><p>They walked in silence for a while. “Mum says you could be good you know, better than any of the girls here. I think so too.”</p><p>He chewed the inside of his lip.”What makes you think that? All I did the other day was mess up and stomp around.”</p><p> </p><p>They stood outside the hall and turned to each other. She had a small grin on her face.</p><p>“You kept your leg up Harry. All the girls were staring and you kept your leg up. You didn’t give up. Even if you were shite.”</p><p>He blinked wildly.”Umm...Thanks.”</p><p>“Also cause you’d look funny in a tutu.”</p><p>He laughed. “Oh fuck off!”</p><p> </p><p>Harry waited in the change rooms the entirety of boxing. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was doing it. Just merely half an hour past he was determined to try at boxing once more. But then he’d seen Mrs Weasley. </p><p>Shed raised an eyebrow at him and walked over. “You owe me fifty pence.”</p><p> He looked around to make sure no one was looking at them. “No I don't.” He whispered defensively.</p><p>“Yes you do. You can join in today if you want.”</p><p>“Why would I do that?”</p><p> </p><p>She rolled her eyes like her daughter did. “Did you enjoy yourself?”</p><p>He stayed silent. <em> Did he? </em></p><p>She pulled out a cigarette and lifted it to her mouth. “Suit yourself then.”</p><p> </p><p>He never realised how short boxing was until he heard all the boys leave. It wasn't even thirty minutes and all Harry would do during it was get punched and yelled at. Who paid money for that?</p><p>None of the girls even glanced at him a second time when he came out after their warm ups. Mrs Weasley didn’t even smile at him. She just handed him the shoes and talked to the piano man about music.</p><p>Ginny leaned over. “I knew you’d come.”</p><p>“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”</p><p>She laughed. “Okay Harry.”</p><p> </p><p>He was horribly confused. He felt like he was thrown into a pool not knowing how to swim. The girls twirled around with their arms above their heads. Every other second Harry was bumped into or bumped into someone else. He tried to follow but huffed in annoyance. </p><p>He made his way over to Mrs Weasley. struggling through the crowd of girls.</p><p>“I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>“Follow the others.”</p><p>"I am!"</p><p>"Stop whining."</p><p> </p><p>He made his way back Into the pool of dancers. The difficulty annoyed him. He stared at the mirror and looked at the weirdest reflection he’d ever seen. </p><p>Harry was in the middle of a ballet class. He could laugh at the sight. The piano helped though. And he was glad to see Ginny wasn't having all of a good time either.</p><p> </p><p>He sat down under the barre exhausted. He’d handed Miss his money and was sitting their huffing while tying his boots. </p><p>Ginny sat down equally exhausted but with a cruel smile. “Told ya it takes loads of practise.”</p><p>He scoffed. ‘What have you been doing all these years to make you this shite then?”</p><p>“I don’t like Ballet.”</p><p>“Then why do you want <em> me </em>to do it?” </p><p>“Cause you do.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t bother to correct her. He didn’t know if he needed to. He liked the music and he knew that. He kind of like the burn in his chest. He liked that when he did do something right he stood out from the rest of the class.</p><p> </p><p>Mrs Wealsey approached. “You coming next week Harry?”</p><p>He didn’t know “I don’t know Miss…I feel like a right sissy.”</p><p>Ginny laughed. “Then don’t act like one.”</p><p>Molly looked disapprovingly at both of them. “If you're not coming you can give me back those shoes.”</p><p> </p><p>He looked at the shoes and back at Miss. He liked the shoes. They made him feel...elegant. He’d never say it out loud but there was a certain satisfaction in moving fast and walking silently.</p><p>“—Nah it’s alright.”</p><p> </p><p>She nodded and walked off. She didn’t smile but Harry felt she might have wanted to.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He hid the shoes under his bed. Who knows what his dad would say if he found out what Harry was doing with his money.</p><p>He was almost caught though. He lifted the mattress up to place them there when Amos walked in.</p><p>‘What are you doing Harry?”</p><p> </p><p>Harry quickly flung himself onto the shoes to cover them and stuck his head to look under the bed. “I can’t find my gloves.”</p><p>He regretted the words the moment he spoke them.</p><p>“Those were my fathers gloves!”</p><p>He quickly pulled them out. “There right here!”</p><p>“You better take better care of them. I saw how you acted at boxing last week. I’m paying good money for those classes.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry sighed. “Yes Dad.”</p><p> </p><p>Amos walked off to leave Harry to glare at the gloves. He hated that he was supposed to honour gloves from someone he'd never met and had no relation to. Cedric had never gone to boxing and no one had cared about that. Harry didn't want the expectations. They constricted his heart like a snake would.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Harry enjoyed sports days. He liked the way his muscles ached and how fun it was to run faster than the other kids. The groans he would hear when he passed someone and the nods of aproval he'd get when he was first to cross the line. Sometimes he wished there was a way to listen to music and run at the same time, he thinks he’d run faster if he could. Music is always in his head though. He had his own personal soundtrack.</p><p>Ron <em>didn’t</em> like sports days. He'd huff and turn red and once he'd even coughed up blood. This meant every time they ran on the grounds he'd pull them away to skip. Harry didn’t feel the need to force his only friend to go through that, so he followed.</p><p> </p><p>Ron walked along the under bridge. “Ginny told me you've been doing ballet.”</p><p>Harry feels his face go red. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”</p><p>“Nah I think it’s cool. Do you get to wear a tutu.”</p><p>Harry smiled shyly and rolled his eyes. “Stupid. Only girls wear tutus, I’d look right stupid in one.”</p><p>“I think you’d look wicked.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry stilled for a moment. He saw Ron's ears turn red. He shrugged and beckoned his friend to follow him.</p><p>Ron regained his composure. “Are you any good? Ginny won’t tell me.”</p><p>“I’m not sure. Ginny says I could be. Your Mum says she’s never seen a single good Ballet Dancer leave her class.”</p><p>Ron smiled. ”I think that means she believes in you.”</p><p>Harry crunches up his face in humour. “Your family is right crazy.”</p><p>“Why are you even going though?”</p><p>Harry shook his arms around. “To get better you divy.”</p><p>“Yeah but like...Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Harry looks up. The sky is gray. Harry wonders if everyone hears their own music all the time. He wonders if dancers do. </p><p>“I think I like it.”</p><p>Ron shrugged. “Well it’s better than boxing.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Harry quickly realised learning Ballet in a bathroom was harder than he’d figured.</p><p>Everington had a library. Well...It was more like a van filled with books. He’d spent a few days looking at all the covers before finding a book about Ballet positions and movements. Unfortunately he hadn’t been allowed to borrow it on a junior ticket.</p><p>A drunk miner and police sirens had been useful in escaping with the book hidden behind his back.</p><p> </p><p>Harry had learned a few things during Ballet class. He’d learned first to fifth position and was quite proud at how fast he’d gotten them. He was still behind the girls though. He knew that. Half the girls could already spin and come back to the same spot. </p><p>Miss called it spotting. Harry didn’t know how he was supposed to do it with a mirror. </p><p>The book said what they were doing was a pirouette, or at least the kid version of one.</p><p> </p><p>There were pictures. Examples in the books. What surprised him was that some of the pictures included men.</p><p>He’d never seen male ballet dancers before. He agreed with Ginny in his head. They looked <em> strong</em>. The muscles in their legs were so defined and they were all very lean and could seem to easily pick up the ballerinas with their powerful arms. Harry blushed.</p><p> </p><p>The first time he tried to pirouette at home he fell into the bathtub. In hindsight he didn’t think it was a very good idea to fill the tub up before his impromptu practise.</p><p>He bent his knees. It was the balance. His balance was off.</p><p>He found himself practising almost anywhere. Behind the school with Ron. In his bedroom with music playing. Usually in the bathroom.</p><p>He knocked the book over once. </p><p> </p><p>“What was that?” Amos yelled out.</p><p>“Nothing?” his voice squeaked.</p><p>Cedric laughed from the kitchen. “He’s probably wanking!”</p><p>He didn’t respond. He’d rather them believe <em> that </em> than know what he was actually doing.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t the only one to fall over in class. Ginny didn’t even try, she just stood there. Watched or walked away. <em>He</em> felt angry though. Determined. <em>He</em> had something to prove.</p><p>Harry had never practised something so hard before in his life. He hardly used the piano anymore and he couldn’t be arsed with what they were learning at school, so <em>this</em> was where his thoughts resides. This was all he thought about. Dreamed about. This was what he had.</p><p>And maybe...maybe he practised because it was the only thing he had going for him.</p><p> </p><p>Even still he fell once again. Thankfully he was caught before his shoulder hit wood once again.</p><p>Mrs Weasley leaned over him and pointed ahead. “Find a spot of that <em> bloody </em> wall and focus on that spot, then whip your head round and come back to that spot!”</p><p> </p><p>Harry was <em>angry</em> at her. He fumed and felt his ears turn red. She’d spoken those same words for the past two weeks and they echoed in his ear.</p><p>He didn’t know what changed about the next try. He didn’t think differently, there was no eureka moment. He'd been exhausted and angry as ever. He doesn't know how it happened that first time. He just looked at the wall. Bent his knees, breathed, and prepared.</p><p>And then he <em> spun </em>.</p><p>And then he came back. And he <em>didn't </em>fall.</p><p> </p><p>He felt a grin spread across his face. A charming pleased smile. He looked towards Mrs Weasley proud.</p><p>She smoked. “What did I tell you about those arms?”</p><p>His face fell as he looked down. His arms by his side.</p><p>“Class dismissed.”</p><p>He looked blankly at the mirror. Then Miss walked past him. She showed him a small grin and winked.</p><p>His lips turned upwards once again. He ignored the hateful words of the piano man.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em>He could hear music</em>. Trumpets played inside his head. A whole band played for his victory. Harry’s blood pumped and he ran up the street...No he didn’t run—No he <em> danced </em>.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t Ballet. This dance was unstructured, contemporary. He leaped and smiled and couldn't see the side glances of the general public. His feet moved like the floor as magma and it felt like the wind was rushing and moving him like a puppet on strings. Like his veins were made of cold shivering water and his lungs breathed refreshments. He tapped his feet fast across the concrete and let his arms fly above his head. The dance shoes swung around his shoulders and sometimes hit his jaw but they were soft and he hardly noticed. He pushed himself off brick walls and could hardly hear the cement patter beneath him. He made his way home with an orchestra following him from the inside. He never thought he could smile so much.</p><p>It felt like a victory dance. For those moments it was.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Amos starred at the half filled trolley. It mocked and taunted at him and he could almost feel the imaginary stares of the other shoppers. He was glad no one at home complained about how little food they had. He kind of wished they did though, because that left no one else complaining but him.</p><p>His heart ached to know that maybe they wouldn’t have been in this situation if Lilly hadn’t died. She had been a hard worker. She made sure she'd pulled her weight. Amos loved her for that. She was the kind of brilliant woman who hadn't needed him but wanted him nonetheless. She was the kind of woman cancer loved best. She hadn't deserved her fate. All she had wanted was a warm place for Harry and a warm place in someones heart. Even Lilly could have made times like these worth it. Now all that was left of her was a hole in his heart, a lonesome piano, and her son. </p><p>He didn't think anyone deserved their fate. This fate. With the striking, the cancer, Harry not showing up to boxing. He was starting to think someone up <em>there</em> had it out for him.</p><p>He looked towards his oldest son. “You notice anything weird about Harry?”</p><p>Cedric chewed on a toothpick. “What you after a list?”</p><p>“He’s been skipping boxing. Taking my money and running off.”</p><p>Cedric joked. “He’s probably gone off to join the ballet. Or buy the love of some pathetic girl. just follow him next time.”</p><p> </p><p>Amos kept this on his mind, even while he scold at the scab his son at once called a friend.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Harry didn’t know how long he thought he could get away with it. Most days Cedric and Amos were on strike, he never thought they’d bother to check where Harry was.</p><p>Harry cursed out Moody. If he’d never said anything Amos would’ve never found out.</p><p> </p><p>Harry found himself being pulled to the front of the class most days. Ginny said that it’s because Miss thought he was better than the girls. Harry thinks it's to show the girls what not to do.</p><p>He usually found himself next to a girl named Luna when he wasn't being the laughing stock of the class. Luna was a bit like Ginny in the fact that she doesn’t really do Ballet. She usually just twirls around and looks like she's lost. She speaks in riddles and goes on about nothing in particular. Ginny seemed to find her compelling. Harry thought she reminds him of his Grandma.</p><p> </p><p>Luna followed his movements lazily as he followed Mrs Wesley's instructions. "Luna? why do you do ballet?"</p><p>"My mother was a dancer before she died."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>Luna smiled. "Don't worry Harry. Death isn't nearly as scary as they make it out to be."</p><p>"whatever you say Luna."</p><p>"Neither is dancing."</p><p>"But you don't even—"</p><p>It had been a right shock to turn around and find his Father death staring him in the middle of class. Harry paused and stood still. He felt his fathers hard eyes hit him as he stopped dancing. Surprisingly Luna continued. Harry scowled when Ginny had the nerve to laugh as he was dragged out of the hall.</p><p> </p><p>He was glad Cedric wasn’t home when Amos sat him down. Pushed him to the other side of the table.</p><p>“Ballet? That’s what you've been doing!”</p><p>Harry kept a straight face. "It’s perfectly normal. Loads of people do it."</p><p>"What people do Ballet?"</p><p>"Grandma used to.”</p><p>“It's normal for lasses Harry! You're a boy! Lads do soccer or boxing—or wrestling Harry.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry pouted. “What lads do wrestling?”</p><p>Amos fumed. “You're not going.”</p><p>Harry's eyes shot up “what?”</p><p>“You can forget about ballet. You can forget about boxing. I’m busting my arse for those fifty pence I won't be having you wasting it. You know what they’d think of you? What they’d think of me?”</p><p>“It’s not just poofs dad! Some dancers are as fit as athletes.”</p><p>Amos folded his arms. “You're <em> not </em> going.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry could hear sirens. This time he thought he might have imagined them though. They seemed like warning bells. They told him not to say what he was about to. They warned him to stay silent. He didn’t care though. Harry was an angry person, he got that from Amos. </p><p>“I hate you!” he fumed. “You're a <em> bastard</em>!”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ron had asked him to walk him home. Harry found no reason to argue, he’d wanted to talk to Mrs Weasley anyway.</p><p>Ron walked along the curb with his arms out. “Ginny told me your dad found out. Said he made a right scene in the middle of class.”</p><p>Harry frowned. “Shut up. It was embarrassing.”</p><p>“It’s too bad you know. I would have liked to see you dance.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>The afternoon was warm and orange. It felt as if life was a surprise gift of creamy chocolates, only to find out they were dark and sugarless. Harry looked around and huffed. Ron lived in the nice part of town. He had a lawn and the people near their home owned dogs. Molly opened the door and tilted her head at the sight of Harry.</p><p>“Harry. What a surprise.”</p><p>Harry looked around. "He’ll kill me if he knows I’m here.”</p><p>“He stopped you from coming.”</p><p>“It’s not his fault.”</p><p>“I think it is. You're alright with it?”</p><p>Harry sighed. “I guess? I—I mean I have to be.”</p><p> </p><p>Ron tapped his foot impatiently. </p><p>She stepped to the side. “Well that blows it. Come in then.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s been awhile since Harry's had so much to eat. Too much to eat. Spring rolls and oysters and garlic bread tempted him from blue plates. Ron seemed to finely nibble on a pastry while Ginny gobbles down a whole steak in less than a minute. Harry could gawk at the sight of such delicious servings all placed without  care and yet so much precision. He thinks There's so much because the twins work and help. Or maybe there used to feeding so much more. The table has plenty of room for him to sit at, they must have needed such a big table for when the older kids lived here.</p><p> </p><p>Harry wonders if his dad wished he’d had more kids. Wonders if he and Lilly ever planned on having more. It probably wouldn’t help much with the money situation anyway. Moody had once told him that miners are born not made.</p><p>Harry didn’t want to be a miner. He didn’t like the idea of always being dirty and working hundreds of feet underground. The thought of busting his back to pick and stab at hard stone all the while earning less than needed all for a lump of black. Cedric had said the mining wasn’t scary, the people paying the miners were. Cedric says a lot of stuff like that. It’s why all the police are around. </p><p>Harry can tell that Dad agrees with him, he’s just more afraid. Cedric isn’t afraid, Harry’s never seen Cedric afraid.</p><p> </p><p>Ron’s dad asks him about the strike. Says it’ll all be shut down soon.</p><p>Harry doesn’t like to think about the strike, he doesn’t know much about it other than the police and the food… and the fifty pence he’s not allowed anymore. He doesn't think about it because everyone talks about it, all the while no one <em>really</em> talks about it.</p><p>Ron says he needs to have a shower and Harry is ushered into their shared bedroom by Ginny.</p><p>Harry pokes at her mermaid shaped stuffed doll. It's pink with an elastic tutu, he slips it off and tugs it onto his wrist. “I think your dad hates me.”</p><p>Ginny pokes at her other ballet themed toys. “Why would he hate <em>you</em>? Mum says he’s just under a lot of pressure 'cause he’s been made redundant.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry let’s slip a smile. Ginny twirls her hair.</p><p> “<em>I</em> think it’s ‘cause he drinks too much and they sleep in separate beds.”</p><p>Harry can feel his face flush. “Why?”</p><p>“Mum’s unfulfilled, that’s why she does ballet.”</p><p>"What does that mean?"</p><p>"She doesn't have sex with him, 'cause he slept with a lass from his work."</p><p>Harry scrunches his face up. He feels like he doesn’t need to know but still continues to speak. “She does dancing instead of sex?”</p><p>Ginny laughs. “No <em> you </em>do the dancing. She gets fulfilment from her students learning or whatever.”</p><p>“That sounds really weird.”</p><p>“She’s also just old you know.”</p><p> </p><p>They both laugh. Harry finds Ginny quite amusing when she isn’t laughing at <em> him </em>.</p><p>Ginny stops for a second. “Well—<em>you</em> don’t do the dancing. Not anymore.”</p><p>“Dad pulled me out of class.”</p><p>“You should stand up to him.”</p><p>“He’d call me a poof get angry again.”</p><p>"No he wouldn't."</p><p>"Yeah he would!"</p><p>Ginny thinks about this. “—Bill once told me some men are so afraid of what others will think, they don’t stop to wonder if that thinking is even bad or not. I don't think what people might think of you is bad Harry. Others might but... I think sometimes people are so afraid of judgement, they don't even ponder if that judgement is founded or not.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry’s never heard anyone say that before. His dad <em> is </em> afraid of what others will think though. He's always afraid of something.</p><p>“<em>Who the fuck is Bill</em>?”</p><p>Ginny throws a pillow at him. Harry laughs in surprise. He snatches the next one from her grasp and pummels it towards her face. If it had been a fist she’d have a bloody nose. She snorts as the pillow puffs against her face. </p><p>Harry’s never had a pillow fight before. He feels the laughter flow out of him like bubbles under water and the noise fills up the room. He feels light, like he could float to the ceiling and float back down. It isn't music but it's almost as brilliant.</p><p> </p><p>Ron enters the room. He seems to look around the scene before his eyelids droop unimpressed. He had somehow managed, Harry doesn’t know, to firmly wrap a towel around his wet hair like in the movies. Ron folds his arms.</p><p>“Ginny. Stop flirting with Harry.”</p><p>Harry stutters. “W—We weren't.”</p><p>Ginny grins devilishly at her brother. “One of us has to.”</p><p>Before Harry can even comprehend what she meant or rebuke any statement a wet towel had been thrown towards Ginny’s face with a splat. Chaos ensues</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mrs Weasley drives him home. Her car is blue and doesn't even struggle along the hills. It's smooth and the engine makes no complaints while they travel back. He likes the car. The leather seats and the dangling fuzzy dice. It's just like the car he remembers his Mum having. The car that wasn’t actually blue.</p><p>He can tell she wants to speak to him, but she doesn’t. Her face is tight and her eyes never waver from the road. She’s got two hand gripped on the wheel and her seat is so far forward that to look at her face he would need to lean. He doesn’t.</p><p>She stops the street before his one. </p><p>He turns to her. “Miss?”</p><p> </p><p>She looks like she wants to shuffle around for a cigarette. “Harry I know this might sound strange but. Well—I’ve been thinking of the Royal Ballet School.”</p><p>
  <em> Why would she be thinking about that?  </em>
</p><p>“Aren’t you a bit old miss?”</p><p>He can’t tell if she's offended or amused. “Not <em> me </em> you dolt. <em> You</em>. They hold auditions in Newcastle”</p><p> </p><p>Harry looks out the window. His first defence slips out. “...I’d never be good enough.”</p><p>She rubs her temple. “You don’t <em> need </em> to be good Harry, <em> they’ll </em> teach you ballet. They just need to know how you move. Express yourself.”</p><p>“Express what?”</p><p>“I think you're good enough to go for it.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry had a strange feeling this was all going a little too fast. He didn’t even know if he wanted to get in. Let alone could. “My Dad’ll never let me miss. How am I even supposed to prepare when I can’t even go to class?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about him for now. In the meantime I can help you prepare on your own if you want.”</p><p>“I don’t have the money.”</p><p>She let out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t do it for the money Harry, If you're bloody well not interested that’s fine by me!”</p><p>“Alright Alright don’t lose your <em> blob!</em>” He sneers.</p><p>She raised an eyebrow. Amusement clear. “Blob?”</p><p> </p><p>He can’t help but let out a laugh. “It’s the first thing that came to mind.”</p><p>She smiles. “Look Harry. It’d be an awful lot of hard work. Are you sure you're willing?”</p><p><em>It’d be better than being a miner</em>… Harry nods.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Harry had never really taken the time to think about what he wanted to be when he grew up. Now it was all he thought about. The possibilities could have seemed endless, but they weren't. There was only one path he thought about. One road into his future that nagged at him and reached down into the very depth of child like wonder and hope he never thought he'd see again. No there was only one thing on his mind. One thing he had even thought bout before Miss and maybe even before ballet.  </p><p>Harry had collected more books. Miss had even given hi a few pamphlets to read through. It all fascinated him.</p><p>Dancers did a lot of hard work by the looks of it. It sounded like a pain. The body horror stories and warnings ever other page. Even so he couldn’t help but gaze in wonder at their elegant poses. Each dancer looked so defined and regal. Each photo was like a painting with perfect lighting and purposeful positions and Harry could only imagine the awe it must have been like in real life. He can picture how the movements would play out. It was breathtaking.</p><p>Harry didn’t know if he could imagine himself being like that. Harry wasn't breathtaking, He was just...<em>Harry</em>. Harry who was was scrawny even for an eleven year old. Harry who possessed a flat eye catching scar that ran across his forehead like lighting, jagged and smooth, noticeable and definitely <em>not</em> regal. Cedric had once told him it looked as if he'd been made of porcelain then cracked and put back together. Harry figured that analogy made more sense as the actual cause of the scar had been an empty bottle being smashed on his forehead when he was merely a babe.</p><p>His mother said one of his cousins had done it. Picked up his uncle's empty beer bottle and smashed it right on Harry's toddler forehead. It was in the before times so he didn’t remember it but his mother had told him he was lucky to be alive. He was even luckier to still have his eyesight.</p><p> </p><p>None of the dancers in the photos had scars, they were all so very clean and smooth. They looked like the perfect humans, no dents or marks. No wrinkles or one limb out of place. Mrs Weasley had never said that his appearance would go against his chances but he never brought it up.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Harry made his way over to Ron’s house the next days afternoon. He didn’t know if his friend knew of the audition or not but he wanted to talk to him about it.</p><p>Harry knocked on the door and felt his eyes rise up in shock when his friend opened the door with a <em>dress</em> on. Ron looked side to side quickly before pulling him inside.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Dressing up.”</p><p>“I can <em>see</em> that.”</p><p> </p><p>Ron ushered him towards him and his sisters shared bedroom. Harry looked around the house trying to spot anyone else.</p><p>“Who’s dress is that?”</p><p>“Ginny’s.”</p><p>Harry leaned against the doorway. “She give you it?”</p><p>“She doesn’t know. Wanna try my mums?” Ron held out a long floral thing.</p><p>“<em>Christ</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry didn’t think he’d look good in a dress. Somehow Ron suited it though, the yellow with red ribbons almost matched Ron’s hair and warm skin tone. </p><p>Harry’s surprise faded away, It wasn’t <em> that </em> weird anyway. “Nah you're good.”</p><p>“Suite yourself.”</p><p>“Won’t you get in trouble?” Harry knows the kind of havoc his dad would make seeing this.</p><p>“Don’t think so. Charlie does it.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Only when he thought no one was home. C’mere.”</p><p> </p><p>Ron moved him to the bed. Harry tried to keep still as Ron puts lipstick on carefully. Harry flinches. Someone touching his lips was a weird feeling, he liked Ron's hand on his shoulders though. He wondered if they've ever hugged before. The feeling was warm and slightly heavy and <em>nice</em> and Harry thinks <em>that feelings</em> a little too weird so he looks towards the mirror. He can see that Ron doesn’t do too bad of a job.</p><p>“Have you got a tutu yet?” He questions.</p><p>Harry doesn’t answer. “D—Do you think being a ballet dancer would be better than being a miner?”</p><p> </p><p>Ron’s head tilted. “Dunno.”</p><p>“It’s just. I've got this audition in Newcastle.”</p><p>“What for.”</p><p> </p><p><em> So Ron doesn’t know. </em> Harry looked towards the window. “To go to ballet school.”</p><p>“Ballet school? In Newcastle?</p><p>“London.”</p><p>“London? Would you have to <em> move</em>, with Cedric and everybody?”</p><p>Harry holds his legs in his arms. “Nah, by myself.”</p><p>“Christ... Can’t you be a ballet dancer here?”</p><p>“Don’t be stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>Ron looks at him through the mirror sadly. “When you going?”</p><p>“I haven't even got in yet.”</p><p>“What’d your Dad say? Cedric?”</p><p>“They don’t know.”</p><p>Ron puffs out his cheeks with wide eyes. “Fucking hell. You going to tell him?”</p><p>“Eventually.”</p><p>His friend sighs a little. “I’d miss you, If you left.”</p><p>“I’d hope.”</p><p>Ron turns around and chucks a lipstick at him. “<em>Arse!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Harry laughs as Ron pouts. “Don’t get all depressed. I haven't even started preparing yet.”</p><p>“I hope you break a leg.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Harry grins.</p><p>“Not like that.” Ron pats at the dress and grumbles.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mrs Weasley met him on weekends and Wednesdays afternoons. She told him he would have to practise on his own most days but he mostly kept it to the days he saw her. </p><p>They practised the dance on weekends. He danced so much he felt as if his blood would burst from his body and his legs would cave under him. But they never did, and he never stopped. They played old time crap music and newer louder stuff. Classic and rock. Even some songs from musicals. Miss said it was broadening his musical palette.</p><p>‘We love to boogie’ wasn’t a very ballet like song. But it was the first one they danced to.</p><p> </p><p>Miss called that type of dance contemporary. Before Harry would have just called it movement. This type of dance was well suited to his boots though. The hard noise they made could almost add to the song and he was glad to see how fun dance could be even when structured and practised. </p><p> </p><p>Harry loved dancing. That was clear to him. He loved the burn, the excitement that rose within him when he did it. He loved the sense of comradery he felt when him and his teacher danced in sync, like they could predict each other's movement and bounce off the others' actions. </p><p>He liked how much longer he could dance now, how much less his lungs begged for mercy. </p><p>He’d find himself skipping every second step home. Running around much more that he used to.</p><p>It was like he’d dug so deep within himself that he found a well. A well full of energy. One that when it was found just <em> needed </em> to be utilised.</p><p> </p><p>When he entered his home the music stopped. The house was silent and dared Harry to speak against it.</p><p>One night Harry woke up to find Cedric getting ready.</p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p> </p><p>Cedric was a caring brother, a caring person. He always had been. But he was stubborn too, and sometimes he cared too much. This list of traits lean to—on some very few occasions. A lack of common sense. Harry didn’t have a good feeling. </p><p>“Go back to sleep.”</p><p>“It's three o’clock.”</p><p> </p><p>He waited until Cedric left the room before slowly following down the stairs.</p><p>“This isn’t the way son.”</p><p>“This is the only way! We have to take action before there's none of us left. Jerry crossed the picket line last week and I won't be having anymore!”</p><p>Harry peeked round the corner to see Cedric holding a hammer. </p><p>“You get back here!”</p><p>“Shove it old man.”</p><p>“You’ll get arrested!”</p><p>“Fuck off!”</p><p> </p><p>Harry heard the telltale sign of a punch. He stayed still and watched Cedric check his nose for blood in shock before grunting and barging his way to the door.</p><p>Amos shakes in anger and turns to see Harry standing there shocked.</p><p>“What the fuck are you looking at!.”</p><p> </p><p>Cedric came back home that morning looking triumphant. Harry hadn't a clue what he had done and he didn't want to. Amos seethed in rage when he saw him. Cedric only grunted and went to grab his signs. His nose was red and he looked like he had a black eye. </p><p>Amos hissed. "You can't go out today! You know what'll happen when they get you!"</p><p>"Get over it old timer. The words changing and I won't be letting no pigs stop that."</p><p>Amos banged on the table. Cedric shouted. Amos yelled. Harry didn't cry.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Everything seemed to get harder in the matter of a few days. Cedric left almost every night and came back with more bruises than he started with. Amos didn’t speak other than to yell or tell Harry what to do.</p><p>Miss was trying to push him, teach him more than he could possibly learn. She was starting to worry. The audition was coming up and she was <em>worrying</em>. He could tell she was and it <em> hurt</em>. He knew he wasn't good enough. She didn't believe in him he knew. His shoulders became heavy and he could feel the future <em>failure</em> seep into his bones like a prediction. <em>If she was worried than what chance did he even have?</em></p><p> </p><p>He finally snapped when she started trying to get him to do three pirouettes in a row. He was getting sick of falling on the boxing ring matts over and over again. He thought he’d moved past that.</p><p>“You haven't been practising!”</p><p>“I ‘ave!” He defended.</p><p>“You're not even trying. Again!”</p><p>“I can’t do it!” He shouts even as the worst pick at his heart.</p><p>“You can, you're just not concentrating!”</p><p> </p><p>Harry could feel his hands ache from catching himself from falling for the past hour. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him. One more push and he’d snap.</p><p>“The auditions in a week's time Harry! <em>Again</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>He bangs on the mat. He can feel the tears well up before he even speaks. He’s got his escape plan and he can hear his heart thump rapidly within his chest.</p><p>“<em>No</em>! Fuck you!”</p><p>He struggles his way through the boxing ring ropes in a hurry and runs as fast as he can to the changing rooms. He finds the farthest one from the door and shuts himself upon the floor. He can hardly breath and his eyes hurt. The tears stream down and he wipes his nose frustrated.</p><p> </p><p>There are soft slow footsteps that move through the locker room quietly. “Harry. I’m sorry”</p><p>His anger doesn’t subside. “It’s fine for you! You're not the one doing it.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>He growls. “You don’t know anything other than to tell me what to do! With your failure daughter and redundant husband! You're just like everybody else!”</p><p>“Now wait a minute—”</p><p>“I don’t even want to do the stupid audition!” He lies, “You only want <em> me </em> to do it because you're a failure!”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice rises. “Don’t speak to me like that!”</p><p>He pushes open the stall door to face her. “You don’t even have a proper dancing studio! You just pick on me because you fucked up your own life!”</p><p> </p><p>The slap doesn’t come out of nowhere. He sees it coming. He braces for it.</p><p>It’s not painful. Pretty mild in comparison to boxing. But he thinks maybe this type of pain hurts the most.<br/>
He stays silent and breathes heavily and looks down. She holds her hands in front of her mouth and steps forward. They don't loom at each other.</p><p>He can feel the tears again. Slower this time. He thinks she might cry too.</p><p>He leans his head forward on her shoulder. She lifts a hand to rest on his back. It doesn’t stop the sobbing to fall from him. He cries out. </p><p>“I’m sorry Harry.”</p><p> </p><p>She brings him back out to practise again. She isn’t less careful with her words. She’s straight forwards and watches him continue to fail. He doesn’t feel like failing. He hates the idea. </p><p>He’s glad she’s strong. His hurtful words did nothing to dent her. His eyes are still red in the mirror. But he doesn’t stop.</p><p>He promised himself to never stop.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The last day of practise Ginny comes to watch him. She leans over the ropes as he practises. </p><p>“When’s the audition?”</p><p>“Tomorrow morning.”</p><p>“I’ll miss you if you go away.”</p><p>He chuckles. “You and Ron both.” He looks towards the mirror and ponders. “Who do you thinks better? Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers?”</p><p> </p><p>Ginny sighs. “Harry do you not fancy me?”</p><p>He stays silent for a moment. “—I dunno. Never really thought about it.”</p><p>“That means you don’t.”</p><p>“...Sorry.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes. “See you whenever Harry.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>That afternoon he watches Cedric get chased. He watched as batons and angry police kick and hit him until his white shirt turns red. Harry can't even scream. Just sigh and watch his older brother get thrown into the police care.</p><p>Harry tries to call the Weasleys. "Miss! I can't make the audition!"</p><p>Silence. and then a beep.</p><p>No one picks up.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I re-read this chapter like four times to get it right and I think I finally got it the way I wanted. Anyway here is the start of this self indulgent AU with more Harry than ever (seeing as my last fic had Harry out of the game for like 90% of it)</p><p>Oh when will my multi shipping arse end with the self indulgence~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cosmic dancer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry missed the audition. What will become of his dream now. What is eleven year old to do when all the world seems to do is crumble.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Movie section part 2~ A lot more original scenes here than the movie but still mostly based on that, everything from this chapter on will be original story. Not sure how long the other chapters will be because the first one was pretty long and this is a little shorter so we'll see.</p><p>We also get to meet Draco~</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Things become weird when you know somethings ending. There was this certain sense of recklessness felt when you knew the fort you had built was on it's way to crumble. Within seconds Harry watched his brother walk out of that courthouse and he pulled himself away. The world blurred around him and seemed to move along while he stayed still. The only thing in focus was him, and the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ticktock. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The black hand clicks. Mocks him in all it's evil triumphant sound. He doesn't cry. There's no tears when you can't move. No tears when there's no melody, no harmonic sounds to soothen your thundering bloodstream. There's no beat to calm his mind no drums or violins. It's just silence. Pure mind numbing silence that would cause shivers if he could manage a twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows the music will come back. He knows when it does, it'll </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Molly Weasley finds their house. She tries to explain to his father. “Harry missed a very important audition today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Audition?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the Royal Ballet school.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She sees his father glare across the table to his son. Cedric laughs. “You gotta be joking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowns. “I am very well serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric scowls. “Do you have any idea what we've been going through? I've been in a cell all night. Now you come here and say you want to whisk Harry off to some Ballet school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks towards his younger brother. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You wanna go and be a scab for the rest of your life. He’s only eleven for sucks sake!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry gulps. “You gotta start training from when you're young.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. I’m not having no brother of mine run around for an old woman's gratification”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Molly crosses her arms. She can see the temper runs in the family. “Excuse you! This is not for my gratification.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna take him away! What about him? He's only a babe. What about his childhood?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry frowns. “I don’t want a childhood. I wanna be a ballet dancer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat. “Oh so you can dance then huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She see’s Cedric walk across the kitchen and easily picks him up onto the table. “Dance.” He commands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you are Harry!” She commands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dance!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s face moves around the room, He looks at everyone. He seems scared and angry and annoyed. She hates to see such a fragile boy be made to act like a monkey for his stupid brothers sake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stomps on the table and runs off. The plates are still rattling as he leaves the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry can hear the music</span>
    <span>, and it’s angry. It demands his full attention and screams in his ears. It’s a song of his movements. Of his angry joints and watery eyes. One that contrasts in its mindly lyrics and speaks so well to his dance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t know if he can call it a dance really. Half of it is his shouting and growling while stomping and pounding on walls. Bare palms banging on bricks and old shoe soles rubbing on tar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s outside in their small courtyard. Kicking in doors and spinning around as fast as he can until he gets dizzy. Then he’s in the street with Ron. He tries to cartwheel and falls. He stomps on the cracked concrete, jumps on the muddy footy fields, runs up hills.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The dance continues while he eats. Continues at school. It thumps low while he sleeps and doesn’t stop no matter the side glances he gets from Cedric and the rolled eyes from Ron.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This dance is angry. This dance is determined.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This dance lasts a year.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’s allowed to join in on dance classes. Miss says that if he can help out the younger girls he can join in for free. She calls it an exchange. He calls her lazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes boxing and Ballet run during the same hours. Harry doesn’t care about the looks the other boys give him, in fact he’s quite glad about it in that they only look. They don’t have an excuse to punch him anymore. He's long since left the secret of his dance behind. Moody stares too. Harry reckons he wanted him to be a fighter. He thinks that’s only because of the scar though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry helps a little girl named Rose. She’s only seven but he’s pretty sure ballet isn’t here calling. She always drifts to face the boxers and can barely lift her feet up when she walks let alone dance. Rose tells him he's an idiot for liking ballet. Tells him boxing would be much more fun than her torture. He finds her funny like that.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’s given up on the idea of an audition, he reckons helping girls who couldn't care less is the closest he’ll ever get to being a professional dancer, It’s a depressing thought for an eleven year old. Knowing the peak of his dream career is this. He can’t even think about it though without getting angry. His shoulders snap hastily with the music. Rose doesn't notice. Miss tries to console him, says he’s improved quite a lot. He’s hit a roadblock and they both know it. There isn’t much more she can teach and there's no more for him to learn here. But that doesn’t mean he’s good. It just means he can’t progress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dance still continues though. He lies with his legs up and he hasn’t walked normally in nearly ten months.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Christmas. The miners are having some sort of get together raffle night and Harry finds himself out in the snow with Ron. A crooked snowman comes into existence between their fingers. It's ugly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grumbles. “This has been a shite Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Maybe this'll make it better.” Ron pulls out a beer bottle from his puffer jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He eyes it off curiously. “Won’t your dad notice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll just think it’s the twins.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry holds it in his hands. "What are the twins gonna do? After high school."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron pats down the snowman. "They talk about going to university together, start a business."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What kind?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dunno. They joke about starting a joke shop so much that they might actually be serious."</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry wonders if he could work in a joke shop, he likes jokes and maybe a fun filled life would be cool. He thinks about it long enough to find he hates the idea. The thought of dealing with business and customers and having his life revolve around juvenile jokes. He sighs. He's been thinking of other paths for his future and they all seem to repulse him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry takes a gulp of the beer and promptly spits it out. “Tastes like piss!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's why they say people 'get pissed' Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron tucks the bottle inside Harry’s pockets. “Maybe you could run away. Join a dancing troupe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s the kind of life I want Ron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...maybe it’s all for the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry chews his lip and rubs his hands together. “My hands are freezing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” Ron pulls Harry’s hand towards himself and lets them rest on the inside of his jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get cold.” His voice turns soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t know what to say. “You're not gay are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What gave you that impression?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looks at his hands and looks back up. He watches as Ron leans in and gives him a small cold peck on the cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t pull away. “Just because I like ballet… Doesn’t mean I’m a poof.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron looked scared. His ears are red but Harry can't tell if it's from the cold or not. “You won’t tell anyone will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles and pulls back. There's been weirder things to happen and he can't find any disgust or repulsion within himself. “Course not. C’mon. I've got an idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry brings Ron to the boxing hall. They turn the lights on and hope no one notices. They can faintly hear chatter from the downstairs soup kitchen. Drunk miners singing and laughing. Harry wonders if his Dad is down there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fucking freezing in here.” Ron complains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe you shouldn't have put my freezing hands in your jumper then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shove it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry runs over and hands his friend a tutu. There's a box of them near the door. All pink and obnoxious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put that on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron eyes it curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry reckons it’d be a weird sight. Two boys inside a boxing ring. One with the sense to take his jacket off during an exercise and one in full out winter clothes with a tutu on top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry helps position his friend. He shows him how to bend his knees and position his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plie first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s Plie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's french I think. Don’t let your heels go off the ground.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Ron followed his instructions. “How do I look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a poof. lift your head up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.” He complied.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry backed up to look over his friend. For that moment he felt like he was seeing in third person. Seeing </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The room was painted with old orange light which shone through the slow floaty dust particles amongst the cold air. If any one else had seen them they might have yelled. Called them all sorts of names. But Harry couldn't see the sight as anything less than it was. It was a warmth filled magnificence. The making of certain type of memory one knew would hold great nostalgia one day. Like when one first learns to ride a bike or feel the grass in spring. It was something that filled Harry with warmth and dread, knowing he may never feel like this again. Knowing he can never truly dance the way he craves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs and backs up into the ropes connected to the ceiling. He gazed upon it and an idea formed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both laughed as Ron dragged the rope Harry had climbed up. They ventured throughout the hall and Harry felt as if he was flying. Cold stiff stuffy air hit his face and fought against his laugh. He dropped down as quickly as he’d got up there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dance!” Ron requested.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry started to tap dance along the walls of the room. His winter boots stomped to a beat he practised so well. He spun lazily a few times before stopping as something caught his eye. Or more like </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He looked up to see his dad standing in the hall's doorway. A few other drunk miners where behind him and seemed to walk away at the sight. Harry looked over to Ron who in panic was quickly pulling the tutu off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry glared at Amos as he rubbed his temple and didn’t speak a word.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was sick of this problem. Absolutely sick of it. As he swallowed and the violins inside him got louder and angrier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped his feet in annoyance at first. Then again out of spite. Then again to the rhythm he’d practised for nearly a year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his back to his Dad to spin and then came back around to kick the air. Amos leaned back in reaction but Harry didn’t stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He danced his way around his dad before going to run the other way. The movement looked like a soccer player without a ball to kick.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks Ron might be begging him to stop with his eyes. But Harry couldn’t. He refused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a series of leaps before a couple twirls back with his arms structured high above his head. He kept his toes pointed for this part to transition into the structured step sequence. He ignored his Dad’s wide eyes as he frustratingly continued to show off what he’d learned. It wasn't elegant like it had been planned to be. Harry was exhausted and huffed with emotions but he knew either way the dance meant something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next part he did on a whim. He ran towards the wall behind his dad before bouncing off of it and turning back into the few flips and cartwheels he could manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos gasped and took a step back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It ended with simple and strong steps and carefully placed arm movements before spinning back around to face him. His face red with anger with one arm to the sky and one arm folded to his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos turned and walked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go home son.” It sounded like he was about to cry.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Amos knew it as late. He didn’t care. His legs ached and he flinched as the neighbours dogs barked at him but he didn’t care. He banged on the Weasleys door in a hurry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her husband ushered him in and he found her sitting on the couch with a cigarette in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can dance.” He blurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas to you too... I know , I taught him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think he can get in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Yes I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He gulps. “How much is it gonna cost?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as much as you think. Two grand maybe. There's a good chance the council wi—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—two grand? I mean the auditions”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just a matter about a trip to London. I can pay the fare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t patronise me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes. “I’m not trying. Don’t be ridiculous”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No—No he’s my son. Thank you for everything you did but I’ll take it from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine then.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Amos could see Harry pretending to sleep. He sighed and went over. Carefully he sat himself upon the bed facing his other son. Cedric was blissfully asleep and would wake up tomorrow questioning his judgement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed creaked under his weight and Harry sat up to look at him. His confusion looked a lot like annoyance but Amos knew the difference. “You can go…”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amos never thought he’d try to cross the picket line. He thought he had enough pride to not. But this wasn't about pride anymore. He got dirty knowing looks from the other men attempting to board the bus to the mines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s a scab now ehh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored their words. He knew why he was doing this. It didn’t make it any less scary though. The buses were private and he couldn’t even smoke to cool his nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Amos knew what it was like outside of the bus. The pushing, the shouting. He knew what it was like when an angry crowd became one and made towards their target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was frightening to look at from the inside. He was damn sure the windows would bust in. The screaming and the chanting and the fists and stones against the window. A few strikers got past police and made their way closer to the bus.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric nearly cries when he sees his dad on the inside of that bus. He already knows what he’s doing, why he’s doing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even have the time to be angry. He hasn’t the time to comprehend that his dad abandoned the union, crossed the picket line to go back to the mines, abandoned the cause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even think about it. He just thinks of Harry. What this means for Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s going to send him to the audition .</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric tries to latch himself onto the bus but a cop pulls him towards the concrete. Two of his lads pull the bloke off Cedric and he takes the opportunity to run back into the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes follow the bus and ignore how his body is pushed backwards as he tries to get forwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone helps him scale the fence and in a quick few seconds he’s running towards where he knows the bus goes. The mines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He huffs and can feel his lungs pound in pain but he doesn’t stop running. He sees Amos get off the bus. He looks at him and then turns away. Cedric doesn’t stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad! What the fuck are you doing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets closer but Amos doesn’t stop walking. There's a shake in his step and the other miners look away.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls on his father's coat and walks backwards to face him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t go back not now!” His voice is hoarse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have we got left!” He pushed back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now not after everything we’ve been through!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s for Harry!” Amos grabs his son. “We’ve got to give him a chance, Cedric.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They wrestle before falling into a tight hug. Cedric squeezes his eyes shut. “He’s only a boy. He’s only eleven for fucks sake!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric's friends call out to him. They ignore the noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s just a kid. A fucking little kid please .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall to their knees weak. Both in tears. “What choice have we got! We're both finished. I don’t want him to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please Dad. We’ll find him some money please .”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Amos's tears fall on Cedric's shirt. "Lilly wouldn't have stopped him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric's voice cracks. "Pl—please!"</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t know what went down. All he really knows is one minute he’s forbidden from even thinking about ballet and the next Cedric and Amos are doing all they can to save up for the bus fare to London.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric doesn’t say much. He’s stressed Harry can tell. The only encouraging words he gets are few.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad was right you know. Your mum would have let you. She was kind like that”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was she a good Step-Mum?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric almost smiles. “The best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day his mum's piano is gone. The next is her clothes and jewellery. He knows why. There are more coins in the savings jar. More money for the fare.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Rose quits ballet the day he goes for the audition. Ginny says she joined boxing, looked Moody in the eye and said she'd scream until he let her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry can’t help but smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t smile for the whole bus ride though. Seven hours is a long time to have to sit in one place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s London like?” He asks Amos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know Son. I never made it past Durham.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>? But it’s the capital city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's no mines in London.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grimaces. “Is that all you think about? Mines.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos slaps his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The school was very fancy. He’d known a school this would be but it still somewhat shocked him. It was one of those places that were so fancy it had a name. White lodge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lady pointed them up the stairs and he had to call for his dad, who was looking around at the architecture in awe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two boys passed them as he walked down the stairs. A few years older than him they wore the leotard and tights he’d seen in pictures. Harry had the chills as they passed. He could feel himself losing his breath but he forced it in. He couldn’t get exhausted. Not now. He ignored the black pit of dread in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He could see a class of girls around his age. They looked nothing like the class back home. They all looked very serious and focused. No one seemed to dance out of turn. He gulped. He was glad there was a piano playing. Piano soothed his nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He had to go into a changing room and put on the same attire he’d seen the two boys wear. He kept his gaze firm as he untied his shoes. He could hear a boy chatting to someone next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This your first time? Yeah I've been doing this or two years now.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stilled. The boy turned to him. “Hello, Nerve racking isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded and looked up. The boy was no older than him but seemed to have much longer legs. He was blonde with quite a pointed face and the greyest eyes Harry had ever seen. His body fit his leotard quite well and he seemed to have perfect posture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Durham.” Harry replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Durham? Isn’t there an amazing cathedral there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry bit his lip. “Dunno never been.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond boy raised an eyebrow. "What's your name?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you going to ask me for mine?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shrugged as he slipped on the shoes. "Dunno."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond boy looked him up and down before shrugging in turn. "You're not very punctual are you Harry? I guess lets just hope you dance better than you speak."</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't know if his words were an insult or not. They still seemed to sting and he wanted to sigh in relief when his name was called.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He had to be seen by a doctor or physician or something before the Audion. He didn't really listen. All he knew was that two men walked around him and measured his height and arm length.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the men leaned him forward to check his spine. Harry shivered as the man put pressure on each bump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tiny curvature here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry put his head up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Head down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that they seemed to stare at his scar and pushed back Harry's fringe. "Does that cause you any pain?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cause any problems? Mentally?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> so. "No." he gulped.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry leaned out the door from the waiting room. “Dad!” he whispered. “I can’t do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos looked around before hissing. “Oh yes you can .” and shutting the door in his face.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door creaked open as he walked into the audition room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the older men spoke up. “Name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry Evans P—Potter Diggory…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the women raised an eyebrow at his long name. The rest stayed stoic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Come to the barre please Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He complied as an assistant led him towards it. “Left hand on the barre.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathed out and did as he was told.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feet first, Arms second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He positioned his feet like he remembered and lifted his arms out. He was told to bend his knees and hold. He could feel them wobble slightly and he clenched his eyes shut.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t like how they studied him. One man with long black hair seemed to scowl at him and an older woman with a Scottish accent murmured to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spoke his next instructions. He was to move to a piece of music.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He started a second late. For the first few seconds he'd been rendered still and his body had refused to move. He was sure they could tell. His feet were off the rhythm. He’d practised this so many times but for some reasons his breath continued to catch. His dad had looked with wide eyes when he’d done this. But when he finished there was no more than a blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Thank you Harry.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He stomped into the locker room. A familiar anger seethed into him aimed at no one but himself. He groaned. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d blown it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde dickhead looked concerned. “Are you okay? It’s just an audition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck off!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get over yourself I'm sure it was f—"</span>
</p><p><span>"I </span><em><span>said</span></em> <em><span>fuck</span></em> <em><span>off</span></em><span>—!</span></p><p>
  <span>Harry faced the blond boy. He was beautiful and lean and his skin was unblemished and smooth. He was perfect. He was perfect and Harry was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He didn't want a perfect person's pity. How could </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> understand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He'd</span>
  </em>
  <span> probably predicted this. Was probably faking his compassion knowing how horrible he was. Harry seethed in rage and did the one thing he’d never done in boxing. He punched him, square in his beautiful pointy nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears welled up in the boys strikingly grey eyes as he hit the floor. Harry lost control of his breathing as he realised what he had done and tried to apologise. Before he could even speak the assistant walked in and looked between the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was escorted out of the room. Amos glared daggers knowingly at him. He wanted to disappear.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you know Harry but at this school we have a strict no violence policy.” The Scottish lady explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. Amos side eyed him from his chair in front of the judges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old woman looked towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a few questions then. Harry, can you tell me why you first became interested in ballet?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swallowed. “Dunno, I like to dance. I didn’t like boxing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused for a second before writing something down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was there any particular part?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Music. Dancing.” He mumbled. The words didn't want to elaborate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos nodded. “—He’s always dancing. Can’t seem to stop him. God knows we tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned to him. “Are you a lover of the arts, mister Diggory?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No well—His mother was. God rest her soul. That’s who he gets it from.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry flinched at the pity full silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay then... Farewell. You should receive your answer in a few weeks time. I hope you both understand that this </span>
  <em>
    <span>incident</span>
  </em>
  <span> will affect our final decision.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They got up to leave but before they could exit the greasy man spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Potter, could you please enlighten us. What does it feel like when you dance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry thought about this. “Dunno...I guess it’s like electricity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They tilt their heads. The words fall out into the stream of the air and Harry can't cork them up. “—It’s like —like there's so much energy inside me that it needs to be let out. It travels through my nerves and I just need to move you know? I guess that’s what it’s like. Like I'm a puppet and music is stringing me along. Or like the world is on fire.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fire? why would ballet feel like fire?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"W—well it's like the ground is so hot you know? Or I am. It's like, my feet have to move or I'll burn. I have to dance or there won't be an I anymore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The judges look amongst themselves. "That will be all Harry."</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They turn to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ron sit’s out on the footy field with him. Ginny’s doing cartwheels with Luna ahead. Luna holds a football on her head as she walks around. Its an odd sight Harry thinks he might have to get used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When's the letter gonna come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s gloomy mood doesn’t seem to transfer. “Dunno.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem to not know a lot of shite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shove it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron hums. “I hope you don’t get in. Then you can stay here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're a horrible friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m like your only friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have Ginny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron snorts. “Only barley. Ginny’s the one who disconnected the landline so you couldn’t call mum the day of your audition. She tried to stop you from going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s glad he hears this now. If he’d heard it any sooner he might have punched the lass. But then maybe he hopes he might have heard it sooner. Then he wouldn't have maybe punched the blonde boy. And then maybe he would have a chance to get in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> reconnect the landline then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron blushed. "You know why."</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grumbled and hugs his knees. Ron continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you don’t get in...but I know you will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Ron looks to the sky. It's blue and the clouds are bright white. “You've got this—this </span>
  <em>
    <span>spark</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harry. This fire within you. It draws people in. Negatively or not you attract people like a heater during winter. It's like the earth spins just for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>... you're not supposed to be in Everington Harry. You were made for something more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry almost smiles. “You think so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. I hate that I do but I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses. “Letters supposed to arrive this week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He comes home to find everyone seated around the table. Even grandma seems aware of what’s happening. The letters there, leaned up against the salt shaker. He stares at it for a moment. Cedric wipes his sweaty hand on his apron and looks away. The letters unopened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry slowly picks it up. It's light. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too</span>
  </em>
  <span> light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I open it privately?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They nod.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sits himself in the hall. His school bag was forgotten on the ground next to him. He tears the envelope slowly open and braces himself before reading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears start to fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric was the first to ignore his privacy. Pushing himself into the hallway. Amos follows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They look at him, sadness and dread in their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wipes his nose and whispers. “I got in…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric laughs but his eyes are red. “Why the fuck are you crying then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He throws the dish towel he was holding towards Harry's face.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Amos pumps his fist in the air. “Fuck yeah!” His voice is hoarse and shaky.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He visits his mother's grave one last time with his father. They sit in front of it and clean up the graffiti.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad...If I change my mind can I come back?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos looks unimpressed. “You can’t be serious…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughs. “I’m kidding!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You come back one day early and I'll rent your room out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t with Cedric!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They both laugh. Harry looks towards the grave. “Do you think she’d be proud of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “I reckon so Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did she like music?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She had a piano Harry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry's glad the sky is orange and the wind is warm. "Did you ever meet James Potter?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos stilled but nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lilly's grandparents lived here you know. They both came up about a year before you were born. I think I knew she was the kind of woman I knew I'd love forever. I knew even when we were both bored little kids during the holidays."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You loved her? Even when she was with James?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos leans his head against the log fence. "Then it was more dull Harry. Under the surface. I loved her like one loves a flower. It wasn't until after when I fell In love with her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gross."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'll understand one day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry just rolls his eyes and smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric doesn’t help carry his bags to the bus. Tells him he’s going to have to carry them alone in London so he might as well do it alone now. He still follows though. Close behind and checking to make sure Harry brought everything he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They're almost at the end of the street when Harry hears a voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry!” Ron calls out from up the hill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t think twice before running towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cedric yells out. “You’ll miss the bus!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amos pats his back and looks on sadly. “Leave him be.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry huffs and leans on his own knees before facing Ron. He smiles brilliantly and turns his head to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron has red eyes. “When will I see you again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time I’m back here. A year maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll miss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grins and there's almost a little guilt as he leans forward. He returns the cheek peck Ron had given him on Christmas not too many months ago. It's light and innocent and doesn't promise anything more and they both know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t wait for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron chuckles sadly and turns away. “Just go.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And he does.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Gotta love writing about a sport I know nothing about~ oh Wikipedia my saviour.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Go Your Own Way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry's first day goes a little unexpectedly as a familiar face pops up with lies on his tounge and a teacher who seems to sneer when he sees him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bus bobbed beneath his feet as the sky turned from pink to blue and became bright within the hill green landscape he'd come to find outside the watery window. He took a deep breath and took in the smell of smoke and freedom that filled his heart will the love only a child could have about the future. He burned with excitement and nervousness and every few seconds his body shook itself from nerve to nerve almost as if to remind him that he wasn't dreaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry studied the maps of Roehampton and Richmond Park he’d been given thoroughly... or as best as he could force himself to stare at a page for so long. Never in his life had he travelled so far alone and so alone. He'd come to find the bus didn’t go into the park and he’d have to walk quite a trek to get to White lodge so he tried to familiarise himself with the landscape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shock of what he was about to do hadn’t really set in mentally. He was off on his own, ready to bust his ass for one of the most difficult careers paths he could have chosen. He was only Eleven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered how sophisticated the classes had looked. There seemed to be no students with any faults. Brilliantly postured peers he was soon to meet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t even thought about making friends. Didn’t know if he would.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry knew he’d never been the best at making friends. The only people he could really count up until ballet was was Ron. Ginny and Luna had only come into the picture recently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The picture they'd come into and the one he'd just left. It made his stomach flip. It was a weird feeling he couldn't quite place. Now that wasn’t to say he regretted his decision but he knew there was a good chance those would be the last friendships he’d ever have. There was no given he was about to make any new friends soon and the friends he did have would most definitely fizzle to the part of his mind left all those miles away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was entering a world of competition, stamina and skill. If he could get these next seven years down his future could be set in stone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could smile to himself. A danseur, a soloist. There was no going back. The school had let him in with open arms even after his fuck up and now he was starting his travel down the long road to the future.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course after he travelled down the long road to the bloody school.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t many belongings. Just a backpack full of things like money, shoes and water bottles, and a suitcase for the minimal clothes he did bring. Not that he needed many clothes. Just sleepwear and clothes for the one free day students got off. The school would supply leotards and tights for classes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry trudged along silently with his suitcase rattling along the concrete. The park was large and went on for miles around him. All he could see was green and lovey hills spanning acres and acres around him. He felt so small. Harry couldn’t imagine anyone owning such a large estate. He couldn’t picture a place so big having once been sealed off from the public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was crossing a small wooden bridge above a silent creek when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn’t think much of it, presumed it was a jogger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry turned behind to spot a freckled brown haired boy with a large welcoming smile and an equally large suitcase. Harry didn't stop moving as the boy ran up to walk beside him. The freckled boy was a tad shorter than Harry but didn’t seem to be much older. Harry tilted his head curiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy didn’t seem to huff at his physical exertion and continued. “You going to the Ballet school?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You?”  Harry sighed relieved it was just another school kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You bet! Came from Ireland. First time in London actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scary innit? The names Seamus, nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seamus seemed to look Harry up and down. “Where abouts are you from Harry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry frowned. He remembered the last person to ask him that. “Durham.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? You don’t look like someone from Durham.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does someone from Durham look like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus shrugged. “Fair point. Guess I’m just a little nervous.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t know if his words derived from nervousness. “About what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The school silly. I haven't been doing ballet for long. I don’t want to start out too far behind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They teach the ballet though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus kicked at stones. “Still… how long have you been dancing for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not long, a year and a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess were both newbies then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They walked along in silence for a bit. Harry couldn’t tell if he liked Seamus or not. He seemed alright but he kind of reminded Harry of a happier upbeat oblivious Ron.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you hear? Apparently they approved so many lads this year there's going to be a small class of boys separately, about five I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raised an eyebrow. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well of course there are still going to be mixed gendered classes but they like having the lads train together. I hope I end up in the smaller one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus shakes his shoulders. “Less people to mess up in front of.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t really care where he ended up. But now that Seamus had said that he found himself agreeing. </span>
  <span>They made their way past the gates and Seamus looked to the left side of the school. “A friend of mine will be waiting for me over there so I have to go off. I’ll see you later!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry waved off the boy before staring at the lodge once more. There seemed to be kids and parents all around sorting things out and Harry couldn’t find it within himself to move much further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked behind himself as a car drove up. A large black car that seemed very expensive. He stood there in silence as vehicle smoothed itself to a stop. The driver got out with a suit on and black sunglasses and opened the door for his passengers to get out. Another man who looked suited in the same clothes got out from the front and pulled two large bags from the boot. Harry pondered who would every need so much stuff.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A Familiar voice startled him as the two passengers got out of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father I’m telling you I can carry my own bags! There’s no need to stand out like this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blond boy got out of the car and was followed by a tall and stone faced man with equally blond hair but longer and less wavy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sneered. “You’d think someone studying ballet would </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stand out Draco.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond boy, Draco huffed. “I need independence Fathe—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stopped in his tracks as his face turned towards Harry. Green met grey and the two stood in stillness. Harry felt as if time might have stopped as he two were rendered motionless. Draco’s eyes were wide and his arms stiff but somehow he didn’t seem fearful nor shocked. Harry couldn’t place </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> emotion was displayed on the other boy's face. He found the unspoken apology rushing back but all he could do was still and stare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time hadn’t stopped though. Draco's father seemed to look between the two boys before turning to his son with a raised eyebrow. “Draco. Who is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh—</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't tell me… Is this the boy that broke your nose?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry took in the man’s words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Broken nose.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hadn’t known <em>that</em>. He flinched as he noticed that Draco’s once straight pointed nose did in fact seem to appear slightly crooked. It was in such a way that might have been once worse and then pushed back into its proper placement. Harry still thought he looked a certain type of beautiful though, he wasn’t sure how an eleven year old could pull off such elegance. Even so the guilt seeped within him and he almost spoke up to apologise like he hadn’t the chance to during the incident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could however Draco turned his head away and lifted his chin up. “Of course not Father, don't be ridiculous. I told you. A school of this calibre would never tolerate a student with such violent tendencies.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry looked around curiously for a second before debating within himself and looking away. He wanted to stay around and ask the boy why he’d lied. But for some reason he knew deep down that it would not have been a good idea. The boy most likely had <em>some</em> reasons for lying and asking about it in front of the person he'd lied to would probably not have been the brightest idea. Harry pretended to look oblivious walked towards the front of the school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivered as he heard the boy's father speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hope for </span>
  <em>
    <span>your sake</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco. That what you say is true.” He drawled menacingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>I would never lie to you Father</em>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry felt bad knowing those words were not true.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like most schools this one started out it’s year with a mostly boring assembly. Harry had managed to find a seat next to Seamus and his friend. Fortunately—</span>
  <em>
    <span>or unfortunately</span>
  </em>
  <span>—he couldn’t see the blonde boy around him which meant he was most likely behind him somewhere. Then again most people were behind him as the first years were seated towards the front of the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t know how many students he expected the Royal Ballet to have. He didn’t expect many seeing as it was one of the more niche career paths to go down. Even still the numbers around him were daunting. His old school hadn’t more than maybe a hundred odd students, maybe even less. Around him now he could estimate maybe two hundred, all from the ages of eleven to sixteen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The assembly had talked about the older years. Those students after sixteen were moved further into London near the theatres. Harry was glad for that. He’d never met many nice eighteen year olds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The teachers had handed out schedules as well. Harry groaned reading through it. He knew he still <em>had</em> to take normal school classes to graduate but it did make him feel a little sour. Harry had never been an academic mind. Even still he did wonder what it would be like having dancing be his main activity of the day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then there was an old man who stood out the front towards the end of the assembly. Harry was shocked at how long his beard was and how rugged and sleepy he looked. The man seemed to absorb light and looked completely put of place. It made Harry feel better as most of the adults dressed like they were headed to a fancy dinner. This man had an old purple coat and a seemingly scratchy barrette upon his snow white thin hair. The man looked comfortable amongst the stage and no one seemed to blink an eye at his appearance.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice was soothingly warm, like a fire or a cough-lolly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, I’m sure most of you all know who I am but I have a slight <em>suspicion</em> some introductions may be in order. As your headmaster Albus Dumbledoor, I welcome all students new and</span>
  <span> old to another year at this fine school of ours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He’d read through all the pamphlets so he wasn’t sure who he could miss such a...</span>
  <em>
    <span>unique</span>
  </em>
  <span> name. He wasn’t one to say much about names but the man before him struck Harry as nothing other than odd.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dumbledoor waved his hand around as he spoke. “I’ve always wanted the children of today to partake in the arts. A fine course of study and a fine course of life. This is why I am beyond pleased to inform everyone that this year we will have more students will be taught than any other year before. I can feel the world of ballet waiting with open arms for all of you... </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> this will lead to a few </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly </span>
  </em>
  <span>smaller classes but have no doubt! Your schooling shall not be affected in the slightest. So no fear young ones. For I have a feeling this year will be a great one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry felt as if the headmaster was looking right at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He stilled. Everyone seemed to still. There was a beat of silence before Hall realised he had finished speaking and a round of hasty applause followed after. Dumbledoor might have smiled though it was hard to tell behind the beard and he soon walked off the stage and out of sight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The older Scottish lady coughed and stood up on the podium to take the man's place. She looked down at her papers before gazing back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a few quick announcements. I hope everyone can refrain from shoe storage browsing out of hours this year as there have been a few instances and some new commissioned pieces we want to keep ready for the end of year performances. Upper years are free to go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed everyone behind him in the hall made their way to walk, leaving maybe fifty odd students left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She continued. “As you all probably know. The number of students has increased so we will be having </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> classes made up of five to ten students separated from the rest of the year. One male and female class. They will run during normal class times just in another perfectly suitable room. This does not include mixed gendered classes as those two will merge.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Harry tapped his foot and brimmed with curiosity. Seamus seemed to be praying to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>usually</span>
  </em>
  <span> call out all the names for first roll and then send you to the classroom you’ll be starting in but due to this change I’ll find it more suitable to yell out the names of the people in this smaller class and where you will be going. </span>
  <em>
    <span>First the girls.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t recognise nor care about the girls who were called out. He just sat there wondering where he would go. He knew logically he would most likely be in the larger class as there would only be around five boys out of the nineteen in the small one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Boys</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Blaise Zabini. Draco Malfoy. ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s breath hitched at the last name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seamus Finnigan.” Seamus fist pumped to himself and looked at Harry with wide surprised eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean Thomas.” The boy next to Seamus looked stunned. Dean turned to Seamus and they whispered together excitedly. Harry didn’t know how they could already be friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman seemed to look at the next name and sighed to herself. She seemed to know what reaction it would get and took a breath before speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry Evans Potter Diggory... All these boys shall meet in room 14. The rest of you all 19 and 20.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry sat there perplexed. He didn’t know if he was surprised at the odds or surprised at the fact that the universe just seemed to push him towards the boy he had basically assaulted for no reason. He gulped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus turned to him. “Why is your name so long? Are posh or something?” he asked curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No...My Mom’s name was hyphenated.” He lied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean chuckled awkwardly. “Be sure to tell your mum her name sounds stupid. No offence mate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded a little dumbfounded and forced through a smile. <em>He didn’t need pity.</em> Not when he just got here. “I’ll be sure to.”</span>
</p><p>He wondered when he'd see the grave next... he'd never gone more than a week without it.<br/><br/></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry almost groaned when he saw the teacher waiting for them. The mirrors on the walls seemed to show the man's greasy black hair perfectly and Harry had to force himself to look away from the thinning dead hair. The man introduced himself as professor Snape. Harry soon realised he didn’t like Snape. The man was always sneering and for some odd reason didn’t sit right with Harry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The five boys stood in a line in front of the barre. Harry couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward slightly to gaze at Draco, who was lined up all the way at the end while Harry had placed himself near the door. The blonde was looking ahead sharply and his eyes didn’t waver towards Harry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A boot stomped on Harry’s delicate shoes. He jumped up and met the cold eyes of his new teacher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape looked down upon him before addressing the class. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There will be no abhorrent posture in my class Mr Potter. As such I expect proper manners and dance etiquette amongst all of you. Any </span>
  <em>
    <span>fighting</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I will not hesitate to pack your bags myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s eyes went from Harry all along the line. It may have seemed normal to the other boys but Harry could tell he was looking from himself the Draco.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Given the time I will have you all master the delicate science of the performing arts over the next given years. You will learn all you need to know about the subtle art and skills of </span>
  <em>
    <span>dance</span>
  </em>
  <span>. As of now...</span>
  <em>
    <span>first position!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He commanded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boys quickly shuffled to follow his instruction. Snape seemed to eye out all their abilities before taking them to the floor to practise stretches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry struggled to keep his back straight as he stretched out his leg. He watched the others boys who seemed to mangle their bodies in stretches and Harry stared bewilderedly at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape seemed to notice. “More Potter! Are you a delicate flower about to crumble over the easiest part of our job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry couldn’t help but speak. “My mother's name was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lilly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That's a flower isn't it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco coughed from across the room. Seamus seemed to turn red and giggle before composing himself. Snape looked unimpressed as he replied. “Yes. I am aware.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry kept himself sharp for the rest of the lesson. He watched as the other boys leap across the floor one after the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape didn’t count like miss had. Instead he just announced “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jete, Jete</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” every jump a boy made.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seamus stumbled halfway through his. As he did Draco seemed to roll his eyes and look away. Snape tutted. “</span>
  <span>Again</span>
  <span>! Get this <em>right</em> we need you up in the air.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus walked back and Snape seemed to think this a teaching moment. “Can anyone tell me why <em>this</em> practise is so important?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry stilled and gazed around the room. He noticed how it was much easier to ignore someone when hidden in a class of many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape raised an expectant eyebrow when the blond boy's hand shot up. “Draco, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco cleared his throat. “It’s our purpose as dancers. The girls work on pointe and we work on jumps. Our stronger bodies are built for those movements.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seamus seems to mouth ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>blah blah blah’</span>
  </em>
  <span> to himself before waiting for his teacher. Harry almost laughed but listened in interested, he’d never heard of this before but it seemed to make sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes Mr Malfoy, very good. As Males we are to provide the bravado to a performance and show of our strength. The females work on elegance, posture, flight and what have you. Of course dance can be done by anyone but the ballet is here to show off your strengths. Seamus Again!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry noticed how smug Draco looked and he couldn't help but want to speak to him more. He recognised that the boy seemed to find glee in Seamus's troubles but he also could tell that he must know a lot about Ballet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came to resent his own complementary statement when he himself had to leap in front of the class.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry thought he had done rather well all things considered. But there was a problem. A big one. Harry couldn't hear music but he could hear the sound of his own feet hitting the floor. He wondered if they had always been that loud? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thump thump thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He thought his shoes were made to minimise the noise, but without the music it was blatantly obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop moving so carelessly, dance with purpose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry can’t remember a time he hadn’t danced with purpose or whatever the fuck his teacher meant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco, who had seemed to try to keep his own mouth shut, gave into himself. “Christ Potter! I’ve never seen anyone so </span>
  <em>
    <span>thin</span>
  </em>
  <span> create such a noise. Stop being so </span>
  <em>
    <span>thuggish</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, who was horribly offended, confused and quite honestly embarrassed turned red. “Shove it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language Mr Potter!”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the day was spent getting students accommodated and sorted out. Harry who hadn't the need to ask for any help found himself wandering. The school was covered in red as the sun set and at above coloured hills and Harry walked around the grounds curiously. He found he quite liked the place. The school was so obnoxiously large he could walk for minutes and not stumble into a single person. It was like the whole world had gone quiet and all he could hear was music he vaguely recognised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were empty old rooms in one corner of the lodge. He wasn’t sure if they were out of bounds or not but he didn’t seem to really care, and he wandered them nonetheless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry wasn't sure what he should be feeling. There were the nerves from that morning that still had him mostly on autopilot but he wasn’t sure what else. He recounted his day. He didn’t like Snape he knew. Then again Harry didn’t really like a lot of people, and in the end he wasn’t here to make friends. He was here for his career, which is honestly a weird thing for an eleven year old to think about but he didn’t let that sway him. He could tell his teacher was the type of person Ron and Ginny would both hate. He was a snob and at times cruel and Harry was glad he had some semblance of self control when it came to shitty teachers, after all he'd dealt with Moody and he hadn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> what Moody taught.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was in fact a reason Harry had made his way into the isolated section of the school, even though the feeling of doing so was a large bonus. Harry knew there were a select few landlines scattered around and he’d been itching to call—well just about <em>anyone</em> familiar really. He wasn't sure he could keep this place to himself. Harry had made sure to have a piece of paper with everyone's phone number and was hoping to find a private place to call, he even had Luna’s house phone though they'd never really gotten on that well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was then surprised to find one other than <em>Draco Malfoy</em> at the phone he’d been looking for. The boy hadn’t seemed to notice him and paced back and forth looking conflicted at the red landline built into a box in the wall. Everything from the phone t the boy looked out of place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry wasn’t sure what to think, so he spoke. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco jumped in surprise. “Potter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry cringed at the name, he hadn’t really noticed till then how much people were calling him </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> name. “Don’t call me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t sneak up on me like some stalker! Unless you plan on <em>attacking</em> me again, leave!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry was shocked for a moment. The boy hadn’t seemed to acknowledge their first meeting that entire day and had even denied it outright. A million questions flickered through his mind before speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you lie to your dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh—oh...Your more stupid than I thought.” Draco sneered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Harry was starting to really despise this guy's attitude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about it for a moment—What would the theatres think If they found out two of this schools dancers had gotten into a fight and were </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> let in. What would Fa—What would everyone think!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry stood there confused for a second. “But...</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> punched </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn't matter! The mere fact that I was in such an incident makes me dubious enough.” Draco countered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry had never met such a… posh kid before. He wondered what kind of thoughts he must have reasoned with to think that something so small before they were even accepted really mattered. But then again… Draco did seem to be knowledgeable about their art so maybe it <em>did</em> matter. Harry could tell by his movement. Draco moved strategically with practise and knew exactly what he was working towards. Harry remembered how he said that the girls practised all the elegant stuff, but Harry reckoned he’d never really seen anyone dance as elegantly as <em>him</em>...and at that moment it was really annoying. Harry was figuring out he didn’t like posh people very much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You speak funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco scoffed before walking past him. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t speak to me at</span>
  <em>
    <span> all—</span>
  </em>
  <span>And don’t tell anyone about your little violent episode! For both mine and your sake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that he was gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry rolled his eyes and debated blabbering about the incident out of spite, just to offend the other boy. He was glad to find that he felt no need to apologise anymore and that a small part of him kind of wanted to annoy the blonde once more, grab his attention and <em>keep</em> it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't though, for reasons he could not quite explain he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was going to be one really long chapter about the entire first year but I decided to spit them yet again~ also I know nothing about what the school is actually like so don't @ me lol&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Town Called Malice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry's first year. A new mentor, a new challenge. How will he face his the rest of his year when forced to partner up with his new rival? <br/>Will a cheery talented girl and her snarky handsome boyfriend be the answer to his troubles? No...And yes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Like he once had before, Harry began to form a routine. He and Dean, who had turned out to be his roommate for the next year, would wake at seven for breakfast with the other boys. Dean would be sure to make as much noise as possible before they walked out. Their small class was rooming down the hall from the other boys which meant they would have to walk behind until they all ended up in their general classes. Then around midday they would be sent to their genders practises before combining. Their day would end at around six before they were left for free time. Dean had told Harry there was a curfew but Harry had never seen a single teacher enforce anything like that and was pretty sure it was a myth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Due to this free time Harry would find himself in that small empty corridor with the landline every afternoon. Sometimes he didn’t even make a call. Sometimes he would stare at the faded red paint and gaze over the number wheel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But </span>
  <em>
    <span>every time </span>
  </em>
  <span>he went, he would find Malfoy with the same conflicted expression towards the landline. After Harry was noticed Sometimes Malfoy would loom at him and snear or mumble something insulting before walking away, But sometimes he wouldn't even lift his gaze away from the phone. He wouldn’t even flinch or waver and the two boys would both stand silent and still and bathe in the orange sunset and warm walls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a few times Harry could swear he heard humming. A small imitation of a piano or sombre melody. Harry might have hummed back if he could solemnly swear he’d actually heard the gentle noise. But he wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t risk it not being. He didn't know what to make of it, so he didn’t. Every afternoon was a surprise, and every memory was never recalled. Harry pushed those moments into boxes inside his head, there was no use trying to find meaning in placed there weren't.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Out of all of his endeavours general classes were maybe the worst part of his day, and he wasn’t a hundred percent sure if his limbs were sore from writing or dancing. His teacher for general science was a small woman squat woman who went by Miss Sprout. This was his only really remarkable class not for the subject but for the people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was placed next to a short girl. She had a helmet of hair gel stiff hair in a tight bun and noticeable buck teeth. He noticed how clean her pencil case was and stuffed to the brim with pencils and pens. She sat up straight with focused eyes and he hadn’t the nerve to speak. Thankfully he hadn’t needed to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked him up and down before speaking. “Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you know my name?” He asked, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss yelled it out during roll call, not to mention we sit in alphabetical order.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t bat an eyelash before introducing herself, seemingly knowing he didn't remember who she was. “Hermione.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione was a… </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird </span>
  </em>
  <span>girl. Harry could tell she knew how to dance, But only technically. She moved like a robot reciting words. She knew the moves, and could pull them off easily enough. She just always seemed so far away when she danced. It was like to her this was just movement, a thing she had to do. She never seemed entirely present during the mixed gendered practises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>General classes were an entirely different matter though. Harry would count on both hands and feet how many times she shot her hand up in one class if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> twenty hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stretched next to her in practice. She was mumbling something to herself when he spoke. “Why do you try so hard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her head shot up. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In general classes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed to roll her eyes but he couldn’t see. “Not everything is about ballet you know. I swear you dancers only think about music and moves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Harry felt an offended sting in his chest, mostly because her words were true. He stayed silent until he realised, “Hey! You're a dancer too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was her turn to scoff offendedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded to himself decidedly. Yes she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had two teachers in mixed gendered practice. Snape would stare at them expectantly while Mcgonagall instructed them. Harry found he liked her even though she was as equally strict as her male coworker. She reminded Harry of an older, more experienced Mrs Weasley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape drawled. “Has anyone here practised contemporary before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy sent a cruel look Harry’s way before shooting his hand up.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry wished Malfoy had taken his own advice. He could almost understand the other boy’s reasoning for not going near each other, but it seemed the blonde boy wasn’t able to do it himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t a single lesson where Harry didn't hear a sarcastic comment or half assed joke from Malfoy, not to mention that most of them were directed at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Contemporary is a style of expressive fluid dance, composed of many different genres not limited to ballet, jazz, ballroom and tap. To first study within the confines of ballet, we must break those confines to enhance your dancing capabilities. Not to mention the performance of our art. We must tell a story, an emotion or feeling through our dance. We must enthral and entertain, push boundaries through movement and convey such themes. This is to say, if you cannot act...you cannot dance</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something about the other boy that thoroughly pissed Harry off. During classes he could always find Malfoy practising near the Zabini boy. During meals Harry would also see the two sitting and eating near the boys from the larger classes. Harry was sure he only noticed this due to the boisterous loudness that was Malfoy. He talked without any boundry and seemed to lead most of the conversations amongst his table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaise was quiet. Harry had first thought him and Malfoy were friends but Harry wasn't able to pinpoint a moment he had actually seen them speak. He had no opinions about Blaise, the boy was boring and self absorbed as most students were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry had done his best to keep his distance. Dean and Seamus sat with him for most meals, and Hermione never ended up too far away. He would also go through most of the general classes on opposite sides of the room from the other boy. </span>
  <span>It was practise that seemed to force them to interact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Professor Mcgonagall and I have decided that for the end of year recital, each first year class will perform a contemporary piece. Of course with music of our choosing. To achieve this each and everyone of you will be divided into pairs to work with each other and your respective teacher to perform a quality peace. Nothing too difficult but now is the time to start your creative journeys</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter how hard Harry tired he always seemed to dance in the same area Malfoy did. He was thankful that most of his stretching problems were being overlooked but every stumble he made seemed to make the other boy dance better. It was almost insufferable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The only requirements will be that at least half of the moves should be ballet inspired, and all pairs will be made of the same gender. Any questions</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Snape concluded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy raised a hand. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is Theadore here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry looked across the room despite himself. A stringy weak built boy with a rabbity appearance and a face almost too confident for the one he had stood next to an unsurprisingly bored Blaise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape nodded to the smug boy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Mister Nott is here as Blaise’s partner and will practise here amongst our class until the end of year recital.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malfoy seemed to pale at the teacher's words. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>—and who will be my partner?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I was hoping you would be able to help and practise with Mister Potter</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry could have laughed at Malfoys horrified face. He didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape ignored his mortified students. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Headmaster Dumbledoor has advised us that classical music would not be…suitable for a contemporary performance. I disagree. Nevertheless a piece of music has been chosen and I have sought to it to create you three pairs a dance suited for the music. Once I have found you have all have achieved a rudimentary idea of the steps you will be allowed to practise with music. Before then not one note will be played. Understood?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t understand how Malfoy seemed to instantly act like he understood the dance moves. Apparently they were supposed to click continuously while doing some form of agonisingly slow moves. Harry pushed away his complaints and tried to examine and follow Malfoy’s moves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malfoy snapped his head up. “Snap in time with me! Not Dean.” he snapped his fingers for extra emphasis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were at least three tenths of a second late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry growled "Stop acting like you know everything! Can’t we just practise it bit by bit? Or with music at least!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snape, who was helping Theodore spoke up. “There will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> music. Practising with music leads to improvisation. You’ll get </span>
  <em>
    <span>sloppy</span>
  </em>
  <span> and fall into amateur moves. Many including yourself will find it easy to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ignore</span>
  </em>
  <span> mistakes when there’s music but I will not. Follow Draco’s lead Potter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry grumbled as Malfoy snickered sarcastically. “Yeah Potter, I'm only trying to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stepped on the boy’s shoe, though it was a bit of an awkward effort as they hadn’t been standing particularly close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Professor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was an accident!” </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s routine began to consist of such lessons. It seemed like how avoiding Malfoy was impossible, being near him was also such. Harry could count on no hands how many times practise didn't turned into a shouting match, because it happened every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And every time, the two were forced to stay late to practise. It was frustrating as all the other boys had progressed to practising with music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes when the two boys became worn out and tired and couldn't find the energy to speak small sliver of progress was made. Sometimes when the afternoon became quiet Harry could close his eyes and practise slow and steady movements to the sombre and restful noises of Malfoy’s footwork. But whenever he seemed to get comfortable Malfoy would take the chance to insult his posture or arm positions and another word full fight would begin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're impossible to work with!” Harry cried out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then don’t work with me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I </span>
  <em>
    <span>won't</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was how Harry found himself wandering again, though even in his wander the slow rhythmic steps still came to him, and though he could hear no music he could almost feel the ghost of song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry walked amongst the regal walls to the faint sounds he was beginning to realise might actually be real. He was soon getting lost in the noise and hadn’t begun to notice his surroundings… until he felt his front collide with a box.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” a young feminine voice called out in surprise as she dropped the four pink boxes she was holding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry watched in slowed time as the boxes hit the ground with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then out of each one fell pairs of dark red shiny pointe shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” He vocalised and leant down to pick them up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl was maybe sixteen with straight blonde hair and rosy cheeks. She quickly overcame her surprise and produced a kind smile before bending down to grab her boxes. “Oh it’s alright, clumsy of me to walk around with these things in front of my face.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry felt increasingly bad as he picked up one of the pairs. The shoes were heavy and the closer he looked the more intricate designs he noticed. Beautiful red embroidery of flowers and birds with silky smooth ribbons. He looked them over making sure nothing was wrong with them before putting them in their respective box. The girl went for the other six identical shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They're very pretty.” He said honestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you think so, the school commissioned them on my behalf for the end of year performance. They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>as</span>
  </em>
  <span> expensive as they look.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry gulped. “They're not broken are they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God no they all look fine. Don’t blame yourself anyway, blame Daniel. He was supposed to help me bring these to the room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whose Daniel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl seemed surprised at this before looking Harry up and down. “Your a first year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded. She smiled. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well nice to meet you Harry. I’m Penelope. Do you think you could maybe do me a favour and help me carry these boxes to the room? It’s just a few halls down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry hadn’t any other place to be so he nodded. He picked up two boxes and walked along with her, only then releasing how tall she was. She towered over him and he thought that if her smile weren't so kind she might have been threatening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What year are you in?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fifth, this’ll be my last year at White lodge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's a given Penny—Hey why you got a first year here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry paled as he saw an even taller boy leaning outside the door of a classroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope rolled her eyes. “Harry’s helping me. Seeing as <em>you're</em> of no use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked inside and Harry had no choice but to follow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like most of the studio rooms this one was painted in white and gold when not surrounded by mirrors. Harry could see three other older students stretching at a barre but they paid him no mind. He turned from them and placed the boxes in a cabinet Penelope had gone over to before standing in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A familiar song he’d never heard before played on an old record and echoed throughout the room peacefully. The afternoon seemed to absorb the sound and Harry felt for the first time in weeks, a prolonged sense of calmness that he didn’t want to leave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you still practising now? It’s getting late.” he asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope smiled. “The teachers allow us older years some extra practise as long as we don’t damage the room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy, Daniel, seemed to smirk and added on. “They let us in here cause Penny’s this school's pride ‘n joy. They’d never say no to her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope blushed but frowned. “You over exaggerate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry felt the ghost of a smile come upon his face. “I wish they’d play music more during my class.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t?” She looked down at him confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not until we...</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> get the steps right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Daniel nodded before leaning on the wall. “Tough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope seemed to sway in silence before bounding up. “Oh Harry! Would you like to see me practise my performance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah why not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel looked up concerned. “But no one’s supposed to see before the end of year—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh don’t be an arse Daniel.” She cracked a grin towards him before going to the recorder and turning the vinyl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry had assumed she’d be good. The school after all had bought her eight very expensive shoes and the Daniel boy seemed to joke about her high praise. But none of that prepared Harry for her dance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope seemed to turn from cheerful and fun to royal and cold in a matter of seconds. Harry hadn’t noticed the movements of the song until she performed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was intricate and graceful and easily switched from calm to panic as the melodies moved her limbs like puppet strings. She was supple and eerie. At first a flute flowed her posture and there was almost a scared innocence about her. That was until the music became louder and an orchestra of french horns and trombones bombarded his ears with powerful sounds, then she too became </span>
  <em>
    <span>powerful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With broad movements that turned to elegant steps into broader and </span>
  <em>
    <span>confident</span>
  </em>
  <span> strides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lately Harry had been losing his reason. Forgetting why he was here. With all the arguments he hadn’t realised his growing doubt. But as he watched he couldn’t help but smile. He felt his eyes and heart open. She was in her element, almost perfect. And Harry knew no matter what </span>
  <em>
    <span>he would end up like that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel smiled proudly. “She’s good isn’t she.” It wasn’t a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s amazing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Penelope finished and seemed to turn back into herself and gushed. “Aww geez, I’ve still got a tad’s way to go until it’s perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long did it take you to get it like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed to think before answering. “We started planning it not long after last year's performance and the next ones only three terms away…I’m not exactly sure, a month maybe?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Daniel looked towards the clock. “We should get going, It’s getting late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked down disappointed, he would have wished to see her dance again. Maybe even watch Daniel’s performance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope patted Harry’s shoulder. “How bout you come round here tomorrow afternoon? You can watch us practise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel seemed torn. “You sure Penny? I don’t think first years are allowed down these halls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. “Posh, don’t worry about him. Come by whenever, where only not here on Sundays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grinned despite his doubt.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Lunch was filled with the sounds of laughter and amusement. The sun shone brightly and grinning could be seen all around.</p><p>
  <span>Harry found himself sitting under a basketball hoop that Saturday. The school had an old court that went unused most of the time and the first years had taken to spending most of their free time on it. The asphalt was warm under the sun and he lazed around on it watching Dean and Seamus play catch with an old baseball.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus was ranting about the song he and Dean had just started practising too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean…It’s a tad odd for a ballet class to be dancing to. I mean we're not even doing ballet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nodded. “It’s unorthodox isn’t it? Apparently the Headmaster suggested it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are we even doing contemporary?” Harry groaned.</span>
</p><p><span>Seamus put on a mockery British accent. “To broaden our skill set and portray </span><em><span>emotions</span></em> <em><span>pottah</span></em><span>!”</span></p><p>
  <span>“At least you two are practising <em>together</em>, I’m stuck with bloody Malfoy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean caught the ball and held it for a moment. “What’s with you and him anyway? When I met him he seemed nice, a little posh and ignorant but nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you defending him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No he’s a right twat, just only to you. What’s up with that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whats up was that Harry had punched the boy. Then Malfoy had been ignorant and rude. Then Malfoy treated him like dirt. <em>Then </em>Harry stomped on his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “Dunno, guess were just the type of people meant to hate each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus sat down beside him. “It’s too bad, I think you two could have danced well together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry looked at him shocked and Seamus seemed to flush. “I mean, you're both good! Plus he’s going to be all tall and skinny when he grows, and Hermione said she reckons you’ll be broad and fit. I guess in another life it could have worked out...</span>
  <em>
    <span>differently</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was stuck on two words. “—Broad and fit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean laughed. “Harry, you eat like a whale and dance like there's no tomorrow. If you don’t end up those two things then I’ll shrink.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry chuckled. He liked the idea of this possible future. Any future that involved dancing, hopefully a future like the one Penelope was living.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry wondered if Daniel and Penelope danced together. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They must have</span>
  </em>
  <span>...</span>
  <em>
    <span>right?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daniel seemed to look on at Penelope with pride. Harry concluded he must have been her friend since first year, a friendship like that must have lasted a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Harry wondered if one day he'd look upon Hermione with pride like that. He tried to but for some reason he just couldn’t picture it. In fact Harry couldn't picture Hermione Dancing in the future at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to imagine being with Seamus like that, and he almost could but it felt off. He could picture Dean looking proudly upon his friend with a wide smile, and Blaise with the same expression while looking in a mirror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then for a quick moment, his mind ran faster than he could keep it in check. He pictured Draco. Draco in Penelope's place. The room dark with only one light on the dancer, and out line of shadows and beautiful movement and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry snapped his eyes open and shook his head. He pushed down the thoughts he was sure were wrong though he couldn't find a reason why. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Semaus laughed at Harry’s actions. “Don’t fall asleep on us mate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry let out a weak smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry knew he should have felt more conflicted the first time he purposefully went to the seniors practise. Daniel’s doubt should have been enough to keep him away. But it wasn’t and Penny's grin and wave as he slowly entered was enough to cement his fixture to stay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would practise next to Penelope nearly every day. She showed him the steps she was working on and he’d copy and fail and laugh. His steps weren't nearly as intricate and military as hers were but dancing with her felt like the hopeful beginning he’d almost forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he was dancing like that he could hear music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was an </span>
  <em>
    <span>orchestral</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound. A loud and confident song that begged for his attention till the last pirouette. It let him for a moment present that he was the cold and confident noise and not the Amateur he’s sure he was. He could make himself at home in synchronised footwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes he falls. And even still he’d wait for the berating, a shout or disappointed murmur. But when he’d open his eyes there would be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hand</span>
  </em>
  <span>—waiting to pull him up, then a pat on the back until he was ready to move again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Daniel would sometimes join in, or demonstrate a part of his work. Never in full and never finished and still Harry would watch like a moth drawn to a flame. Where Penelope was pretty he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>handsome</span>
  </em>
  <span>, He leaped like gravity was mere word to him and his strawberry freckles limbs moved with such tremendous decorative movements Harry could blush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope was amazing where Daniel was enthralling, and his heart skipped a beat every time he saw them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry, you've watched us practise loads. Why don’t you show us what you're working on?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt like a fool then, Stumbling and getting the timing wrong he knew. Malfoy had pointed out every flaw he had and watching the two people he’d come to admire analyse him could have been disastrous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel flinched. Penelope puffed her cheeks and nodded before smiling sweetly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why don’t I help you practise</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a few times she'd say the same thing Draco did. The same advice. Harry never wavered when he heard her though. She was kind and useful and helped where Malfoy couldn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were practising his performance one afternoon. Harry proud of his progress but still failing in Malfoy’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It’s just wherever I’m around him, he’s insufferable! He’s so high and mighty! And he fills a quiet room with </span>
  <em>
    <span>insults</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny chuckled. “Oh I can get that, Dan was just like that in our first few years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry paused. “—What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah! He used to trip me over during class and pull on my tutu. The git never left me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s eyes widened and turned to Daniel. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded sheepishly. “Negative attention is better than no attention right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned back. “How’d you get him to stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny blushed but grinned proudly. “I kissed him, shut him right up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry felt his cheeks turn red. “I’m not kissing Malfoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. “Yeah I don’t think my solution will work well for you...I do have an idea about the performance though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tendu devant effacé,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she mumbled her movements before speaking again. “You said Snape doesn’t let you practice with music until it’s perfect? And you haven't even heard the song. I think in theory that works but me and you are a little different Harry. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> music to feel the movement. I think you should start practising with the song.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry agreed. “But Snape would never let me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bring Draco here then, this place will be free tomorrow. Bring the music an practise here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he’ll agree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel cracked his back. “He kinda has too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The school settled into the warm wind and all was quiet when Harry found Malfoy by the landline. The boy had gotten closer and closer to the box, Harry could reckon any day now he’ll make the call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy looked up and frowned. “What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—I’m not just going to follow you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry started to walk down the hall. Malfoy looked around conflicted before walking after the boy. When they entered the room Malfoy analysed the room before stepping back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where not allowed down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got permission...just not from Snape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we doing down here Potter?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry paused before he touched the record player. “Why do you call me that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potter. I have three last names, why that one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you call me Malfoy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you call me Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Well I call you Potter because Snape does. It’s your name isn’t it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Technically.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malfoy grumbled. “Again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span> are we here for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry began to play the song. Clicking and bass came around the room and Harry began to understand. “Were ‘gonna practice with the music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Snape said we can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry waited, he knew they came in around the end of the song. He almost blushed at the words of the song but didn’t. Instead he turned to Malfoy. “It’s either this or we never get it. Make your choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy seemed to debate this in his head. His cold grey eyes flickered before turning cool. He nodded and started to snap his fingers in time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry heard the music as he and Malfoy began to dance. The movements were slow, ceaseless and fancy. There was no agonising silence and no berating and Malfoy fell into his movement. Harry wondered if they were supposed to be cool or sensual. Emotionally it was awkward and weird as words of love and some deep metaphor surrounded the room but there was no time to delve into the awkwardness. Harry watched his partner and realised what Seamus had meant. Music kept both boys in tune as they slowly danced towards each other before passing. Then they snapped again and turned to face the other. Harry could have sworn their noses touched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy frowned though. He looked angry and Harry remembered he was supposed to look angry too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needn’t remind himself though. The mirrors showed two boys, dancing in motion with eyebrows furrowed and arms snappy and slow. It looked almost like a show of dominance, a fight between two boys set to song. The lyrics may have talked about love but all Harry saw was a rivalry, a slow cool rivalry with music and dance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the music stopped Harry almost smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy seemed to deliberate the results before nodding. “It seems you're not completely incompetents after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every Sunday then, be back here to practise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that’s our free day…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have anything better to do</span>
  <em>
    <span> oh saint Potter</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s settled then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape watched his students and made sure not an ounce of surprise could be found in his expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of all of his pupils he was sure those two would be great. He was sure of it and he <em>hated </em>that fact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both had a fire within them, an urge or passion. Snape wasn’t one for metaphors but he knew where they had the capabilities to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned as he watched them dance. They were smooth and their eyes never left the other boys unless to turn, they worked together like a well oiled machine and they didn't even know it. Snape's not sure how it happened, He’d given them the hardest moves and somehow behind his back they’d formed an alliance, broken down each mistake they'd one made and eradicated them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco wore his heart on his sleeve. Worked harder than anyone else and Snape almost felt sorry for pairing him up with Potter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t though, he'd been a good friend to the boys father and had tried his hardest to subtly discourage the boy from dance. A rich boy who was used to getting everything shouldn’t have lasted in hardship of his partnership with Potter for as long as he did. Snape would have to send a letter to Lucius informing the man that Draco had chosen his path and wasn’t willing to waver.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter was the child that made his blood boil the most. He looked so much like James. It made him sick to see. He was revolted in the fact that Harry wanted to be a dancer. Lilly never wanted to, so why was her son like this? Why was her son set on taking a passion his mother should have had?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grew in anger in the fact that Harry barely flinched at his criticism anymore, never reacted with more than an eye roll when Draco pointed out a flaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was worse was the fact that when they danced together, all the teacher in Snape saw was pure potential. And that—that made his skin crawl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Semaus jaw dropped when the boys finished their demonstration. “When did you guys learn that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco rolled his shoulder. “Practise, ever heard of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry huffed but didn’t seem annoyed. “Don’t be a dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sod off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snape could have sworn he saw a smile on Harry, could have sworn he saw one on Draco. He wanted to quit right there.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The year went on and again Harry continued to listen to the music of his life. Music that played when he laughed with Penny, Music when he looked at Daniel. Music when Draco decided it was time to practise leaps. He heard music when he invited Cedric and Amos to London for the end of year performance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He heard it when Seamus joked. When Dean caught the ball and threw it over head. When Blaise got lost looking in the mirror.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It played the first time he heard Hermione laugh. It played when the months passed by and the date grew closer and Harry's hope began to grow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There where times when the music stopped. When Harry found himself screaming at a frustrating blond boy, when he realised it was only a few weeks untill Penelope and Dan moved into London.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It stopped when He called Ron for the first time, and he heard Ginny’s voice and realised he hadn’t thought about them at all. It stopped when they told him the union gave in. When Amos told him he was going back to the mines. When Cedric said they wouldn’t be able to make it to his first performance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It stopped when Snape yelled at him to shut up on the bus ride, when he saw how large inside the theatre was. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry gulped</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Then he let out a breath, and waited for the music to start once more.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry found himself tapping his foot anxiously, the performance was to be in nearly an hour and he shivered in a quiet empty room.  The rest of his year had gone to greet the parents waiting outside and all that was left was him, a few girls and Malfoy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy was sitting next to him, looking sore and bored.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who's going to be in the audience?” Harry asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was shocked when Malfoy answered without any bite. “Parents mostly, some companies will be out there though, watching the older years and looking out for any promising talent to keep tabs on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are your parents? Will they be out there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malfoy huffed and Harry could have sworn his eyes were glossy. “My parents are very busy people, they don’t have time for a silly performance when I'm only in first year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry frowned, that didn’t seem to make any sense. “But it isn't silly—you worked really hard on this. We all did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S—shut up Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And sure the songs a little weird but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please! Just shut up…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry noticed the boy next to him seemed to sniffle slightly. His cheeks were shiny and his nose was red. Tears fell like sad notes on a piano and Harry looked away knowing they weren't for him to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat like that. In sombre silence. Harry fiddled with his tie and sleeveless button up as he waited for the other boy to stop crying. </span>
  <span>Harry began to find he hated when other people cried. And he especially hated when Malfoy cried. He wasn’t sure whether to feel pity or empathetic. Wasn’t sure if he was allowed to not care or if he did actually care.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry mumbled. “The song </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> stupid though, I mean we're like the only year not dancing to instrumental music. It looks like we haven't learned an ounce of actual ballet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve learned loads.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy rubbed his eyes but seemed to calm. “Tempo, timing. Snape will have us preparing our arm strength soon. Dean can leap better than all of us, Seamus has been trying to lift Lavender behind everyone's back and i think he's almost there, <em>oh and </em>you've been practising with seniors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah—hey! How’d you know about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tutted. “Who else would have ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>given you permission</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ to use the seniors room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of seniors. Penelope Clearwater is waving at you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malfoy pointed over towards the door. Harry looked to find that Penny was in fact waving him over frantically. He nodded quickly before muttering a “see you.” And rushing over to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry! So good to see you— is everything alright! I hope everything's alright, <em>why wouldn’t anything be alright</em>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She seemed to chuckle maniacally and look around nervously. Harry tilted his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—<em>No</em>! I can’t find my shoes! they were supposed to be in the dressing rooms  and hour ago and they're not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s eyes widened. Her pointe shoes had been one of the most expensive transactions he’d ever heard of. “Where's Daniel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s helping our class get ready, I didn’t want to bother him—His parents are here with the company he’s aiming for.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry looked towards the clock, they had around seventy minutes until Penelope’s final performance. “Have you told a teacher?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mcgonagall said she heard they were already delivered to the changing rooms!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked around. “I can run about to help you look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope nodded quickly. “Thank you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry ran throughout the theatre scouting for the shoe boxes. He hadn’t time to worry about his own performance as the only thought on his mind was his friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope had been more of a teacher to him than Snape had over that past year. She knew him and how he danced maybe better than he himself did. And now his mentor, and best friend was panicking, and leaving him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penelope was going to Covet garden with all the other older students. She already had a company ready to take her under them and her career was about to start. Harry was five years under her and she could even be retired by the time he starts. This could be the last night he ever sees her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No tears fell as determination set in</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m glad that my suggestion worked.” Penelope smiled.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, Malfoy’s still a git and has me practising almost every Sunday...but he’s easier to deal with when music's playing.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I feel that. The music for my performance was one of the first pieces to ever shut Daniel up.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry thought about this. “I never asked, what is this song?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She smiled. “It was written by Tchaikovsky for Swan Lake. A beautiful ballet really.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry listened curiously. “What’s it about?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I—It’s about a woman, who was captured by an evil magician.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry felt the need to look away. “Sounds boring.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh but it’s not really, you see this woman. She’s forced to be swan, and only for a few hours ever night can she become herself again. She becomes real. And then one night, A prince finds her and...They fall in love. And she realises this is the one thing, that can make her human again!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry waited for her to continue but she didn't. “What happens next.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Penelope shrugs. “He promises to marry her than runs off with someone else.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So she stays a Swan forever?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“—She dies.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry’s eyes widened. “That’s shite.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She laughed. “It’s only a story Harry.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Penelope! I found them!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry ran with boxes in hand, Daniel trailing behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny gasps before running over and smiling in relief. “Where were they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daniel smiled with guilt in his face. “I was holding onto them for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Penny looks up with furry and humour in her eyes. “I love you—I’m going to kill you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grins before his eyes waver towards the clock, he’s supposed to be on stage in five minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes hi way to go but Penny grabs his arm. “Harry wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up at her. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks around before lowering her voice. “You know I'm moving out of White lodge right? Th—this is goodbye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry could feel his eyes begin to water, he knew but hearig her say it nearly broke his heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t cry</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t cry</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t cry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed to sniffle as well. “Harry, do you think you can promise one thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, feeling his thought clench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled sadly before speaking and looking towards the hall that led to the stage. She pointed towards it. “Promise me that one day Harry, we're going to dance together on </span>
  <em>
    <span>that stage</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We’re going to bow in front of a crowd and revel in applause, you got it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled despite himself. "I promise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span> She pulled him into a tight hug before letting him go. “Go on Harry, it’s nearly time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wiped his eyes. “I’ll miss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled and turned to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! One more thing Harry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked back at Daniel who had spoken up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled and winked with good nature in his eyes. “Have fun, go dance.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry felt his cheeks go red and become wet with tears. He grinned and began to run.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Daniel had slipped a promise ring into one of Penelope's shoes before the show. Penelope hadn't the time to cry so she danced with all the passion deep within the well of her soul. She danced like it was the only thing she could do and she held her arms out proudly as the crowd gave her the standing ovation she deserved.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry Was surrounded by music, and their were no tears left his eyes and no smile fell from his face. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco looked upon the crowd coolly, Seamus gripped Dean nervously and the boy’s sighed when it was all over.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco analysed the crowd, knowing his parents would never be there.  He analysed knowing there was no hope of two blonde aristocrats smiling and applauding from the crowd. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco looked towards a boy. An infuriating boy he couldn’t stand to see and couldn’t stand to live without.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco sighed, and waited for the day he wouldn't think of his parents. Waited for the day a dimwitted boy didn’t make his heart skip a beat and his mouth form cruel words.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Draco waited...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hinting at whose going to be focused on in the next chapter ;) This one took a while to get inspired to write but when i did it only took a day so progress!</p><p>Also if anyone was wondering I spent hours trying to find the right songs for Harry's year to dance to and then I never mentioned it so~ Initially I wanted instrumental music made in the 80s but I gave up on that. If anyone's wondering I picture the song Draco and Harry's year dance to is Elvis Presley's rendition of 'Fever"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The End Of The World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A short series of scenes including Draco Malfoy's experiences during his second year.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sun set on that last day at White lodge in that first year. The sky was a warm colour and brushed against smooth trees though the chill forced snow down upon Roehampton in a show of nostalgia and change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was sitting upon the front stairs waiting for a parent much like many other students.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took out his boredom on his peers and spied around the group. He could see Seamus and Lavender giggle in secret and Dean loom on confused with something sad and lonely in his eyes. Draco rolled his own eyes at the show of young drama knowing full well the hypocrite he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned to Blaise who'd made the mistake of sitting next to him. The boy was writing down in the small journal he kept with him and looked to not desire any form of conversation. Draco ignored this and spoke. “What’s your family doing for Christmas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaise didn’t look up. “Going to France.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Usually my Father takes us to Italy, of course he’s incredibly busy this year so I’ll most likely spend my time with a tutor. My father values my education outside of school”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited for a moment but the other boy didn’t reply, so instead he turned and kept his eyes on the roundabout. He sat glumly and started to sway slowly to a tune he couldn’t hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was pointedly avoiding the boy on his left. The same boy he couldn’t shake who somehow <em>always</em> managed to end up right next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco remembers the threat he’d told the other boy a year ago. He knows they’d both tried their weakest to avoid the other. Draco <em>also</em> knows his father should be showing up any moment with the car, and to avoid a fuss he really should push the other boy away and go sit somewhere else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco had stopped trying to keep his distance the moment he saw Harry walk up to the landline for the second time. He stopped trying to avoid sections of the rooms he knew Harry liked to dance in and ultimately Draco was aware he himself was the one to blame for their close proximity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only wished the other boy had the sense to achieve the distance he couldn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter seemed to look over Draco before speaking up. “What are you singing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco paused and raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—What song was it? Just now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco blubbered. “I wasn’t—what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaise seemed to find then the right moment to speak. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The End of the World</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Skeeter Davis.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco was a little taken aback, he hadn’t noticed </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> noise coming from himself. He pushed away his confusion and shrugged before speaking. “Lovely song, my mother has the record.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it about?” Potter asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco taped his feet on the cold stone. “What are most songs about? Love, heartbreak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not all songs are about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the good ones are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter shook his head slightly with his thinking eyes closed. “Not true, I can name so many songs not about those two things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco huffed, and folded his arms. “Oh really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter seemed to take this as a challenge. “Town called malice, London Calling, Eye of the Tiger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those songs are all crass and thuggish. They hardly count as music.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter’s cheeks darkened. His eyebrows furrowed and for a moment Draco was sure something on the skin of his forehead was pulled down. “You're an arse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get a haircut”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter turned away and stood up hastily before dredging over to a sour looking Dean.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco wondered how Potter walked around with his hair as long as it was. He was almost convinced the other boy couldn’t see half the time. With his fringe so long sometimes it covered his glasses. The rest of his hair was at a normal length all besides that one anomaly. He wondered if the other boy would come back next year with the fringe gone. He wondered If he would come back with those out of place green eyes in view for all the world to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco could feel his heart race and decidedly forced himself to ignore it. He berated himself for his thoughts and sat upon the stairs glumly, feeling the slight shiver of the cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Master Draco, It’s time to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco hadn’t noticed until the voice of his family's personal driver came upon his ears that the car was there waiting for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around before growing. “Dobby? Where's father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The short old man stayed stoic. “He is dealing with some important business. I’m here to take you home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco disciplined his expression before speaking. “Oh...Of course. Lead the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked back towards Potter. The boy didn’t seem to notice his stare as he laughed and tried to lift up Hermione, whose snarl pronounced her buck teeth and whose book repeatedly hit his shoulder. Potter didn’t seem to notice as he paid attention to his wobbly arms and calculated his next try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco didn’t lift his gaze from the boy once as the car drove off. Potter's head never turned back.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco himself had never liked his home. The walls were too dark and Victorian and the rooms each held their own secrets. It had never been a safely built home for a child and Draco thought himself lucky a maid or servant was around every corner growing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never liked the house...because every so often a doctor or nurse would appear and Draco would know why. He never liked this because it would happen nearly everywhere in the largely built house. There was no escape from the men in white coats and women with blue gloves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was one place in that manor that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> though. The one place that would have been suitable for friends and private enough for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was once a library. A family archive of books and papers. In the most technical terms it still was. The large open space still had rows upon rows of books and the walls were all covered well. Draco had been seven when he’d begged for his own barre and dancing space. He’d begged for one of the off rooms in the library to be his. He’d cried and whined and refused to eat for weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucius had indulged Draco. Figured it was a phase or some obscure hobby. Draco barely left that room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t remember waking up. There was no room in his mind left for the memory of having breakfast and walking down those empty blue halls. One moment he was in a car, the next day he was practising in his studio.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vincent and Greg were <em>not</em> Draco's friends, that is true. The strings attaching the three boys together were completely conditional. They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> the closest things he had to cousins though. He’d known them all his life but only due to the facts that their respective parents were politicians. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two boys walked into the room with bored looking eyes and dragging feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco didn’t bother to stop his practise as he addressed them, though his grip on the barre tightened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you guys here for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg slumped against a wall and looked across book spines. “We've been dropped off, our parents are all having dinner together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s seven in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vincent shrugged. “Our parents insist we come around, socialise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we five? No offence but surely you're old enough to choose who you hang out with”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg replied. “Our liberties vanished when you took all your family's lenience and went to a bloody ballet school. Our parents can't afford us failing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco rolled his eyes. He was aware the only reason he’d been allowed to attend the royal ballet was because of his outward skill. He wasn’t amazing but he’d convinced his father he couldn't be a failure and such he was allowed. He’s sure if Greg and Vincent had even expressed an interest either of them would have been immediately sent off to some military school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's some chalk and marbles on that shelf, entertain yourselves.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Draco regretted this suggestion when the two started aiming marble at his feet. “</span><em><span>Fuck</span></em> <em><span>off</span></em><span>!”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Draco, Language.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mother!—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her cheeks were brushed with pink and her eyebrows faced down. Narcissa Malfoy was the epitome of class and wealth. Her voice was hoarse though and Draco could feel the lingering essence of doctors and medicine radiation off of her. Sometimes he wondered how someone so sick could look as she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Narcissa smiled and Draco almost winced. “Your father requests your presence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lucius Malfoy stood facing the window of his office and the early morning sun left nothing but his silhouette for Draco to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has come to my attention that you have lied to me Draco.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did his best not to still. He racked his brain as he spoke. “What might this be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That boy. That delinquent was accepted into your so-called “high calibre” school. I called shortly after to ease my suspicions only to become </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>alarmed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter. His father spoke of Potter and Draco almost laughed at the absurdity. Of all the lies Draco spilled towards his father of course his first one about a shaggy haired boy would fall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Had his father kept this to himself for almost a full year? Let Draco push aside his lie entirely to the back of his mind?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took the offence. “Th—That incident was a year and a half ago. My worries about Potter ended after our second meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potter? You know his name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco gulped. “Of course I do. He’d in my year after all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lucius turned to face his son and though his face was mostly obscured by shadow, Draco could see the never ending suspicion he expressed. “I will contact the school and request his transference immediately. And if not his then yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco let his voice raise. “No you mustn't! Everything's fine Father </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t raise your voice at me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> Draco. Never in my life have I seen you </span>
  <em>
    <span>lie</span>
  </em>
  <span> to my face and then defend it. Give me one reason why I shouldn't.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because he doesn’t deserve that</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Because Draco has wanted to go to this school for years</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Because Potter is like a non monstrous fire and Draco can’t help but let his heart flutter like a moth then burn</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco told the truth. “He was my dance partner this year. Things were a little dodgy and amateurish at first but we really stepped up our game and he loves to dance just as much as I do. I can’t bear to go without my biggest competitor and equal. If there's a problem I’ll come to you but please Father, let it be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucius seemed to wonder Draco’s answer before speaking. “I will not be accompanying you to the first day this year Draco. You're growing up and soon I’ll expect you to make your own way. Dobsworth will drive you as usual.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco took his father's silence and prepared himself for the question he wanted to ask. “Why is Mother out of bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have guests, and as a wife it is her responsibility to fetch you when I call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words made no sense to Draco. “But she’s sick—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are dismissed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco took his words and left. He kicked the doorway in his own pettiness on his way out and sighed. He had a feeling this would be a long holiday.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Scene I. Year II</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco knew it was clique but coming back to school felt oddly like something home. He stood in front of that main entrance and felt something he’d never had before. It was warm and loud and almost felt like poetry thrumming inside his skull. Millions of sweet adjectives and literary words flowed through him like a sunbeam and for a moment— he let himself close his eyes, look up and bathe in the warmth of this particular movement within his chest. He let his right hand reach up and clutch at the fabric above his heart and for that moment Draco was at peace. The water was still and the clouds unmoving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gulped and was glad that when he finally opened his eyes, no one was round to see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dragged his heavy suitcase up to his room. It was locked and there were multiple boys hanging around the corridors sitting on bags outside of locked rooms, chuckling and laughing without a care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco! You got tall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down the hall further and saw Dean running towards him. “I could say the same to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mum reckons the moment I turned thirteen I shot up a foot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well lets hope it gives us some extra strength.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean groaned. “Already talking about ballet strategies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W—We go to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ballet</span>
  </em>
  <span> school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Literally only like, you and Harry think so much about this. The year only just started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean began to walk down the hall and Draco dropped his bag to follow hardheartedly. “Everyone’s hanging in an empty room before the assembly. Hopefully Harry isn’t still checking the mirror to see if he’s still scrawny or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Dean looked back and Draco forced his expression still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the way, don’t tell anyone but the group is thinking of sneaking out into the park tonight. A little start of year celebration if you will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco let out a curious glance. “The group?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know! The two small classes, Me, you, Seamus, Hermione, Lavender. The whole lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco was mighty sure sneaking out would not be a good idea. The consequences of being caught was not a particular fate he felt the need to experience… even so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm not sure Dean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry will be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face slowly reddened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God darn his pale features. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“What does that have to do with anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean smirked. “We'll most likely be doing some sports stuff and… Let's just say he’s not the most athletically inclined person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a dancer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's a difference between dance and contact sports.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco paused and Dean nudged him with his elbow. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well I'd never miss an opportunity to watch Potter humiliate himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean seemed to grimace and smile all at once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room was filled with the people Draco had come to expect to see. Granger and Seamus seemed to be talking animatedly at a desk while Lavender pestered Blaise about some form of hair product he was using.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco of course found his eyes drawn to Potter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy stood at the barre as he looked back and forth of each Patil twins. Padma looked stoic as Parvati seemed to be talking seriously, all the while Potter listened intently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From looks alone Potter seemed to fit next to the twins. Though Draco knew all their personalities differed slightly all of them were built quite strongly and even though Harry seemed a little uncomfortable visually he looked to share some of the twins characteristics. Draco took a moment to wonder if he’d ever asked about Potters heritage. In truth he’d never really wondered about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the most eye catching thing about the whole situation was Potter's hair… or lack of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other boy’s hair still somehow had that messy quality about it even with it snipped down tremendously. Draco’s eyes widened as he looked over Potter's forehead. Visible now Draco could see how like cracked porcelain the scar was jagged and eye catching and he couldn't find the sensibility to look away. Draco gulped and wondered how much it had hurt. Wondered what had happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In turn Potter met Draco’s eyes and almost let his lips turn up before frowning. Draco stayed in an almost defensive stance while Potter made note of where his eyes had gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean seemed to notice their staring contest and laughed. “Wicked scar right? He won’t tell us how he got it, we're taking bets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sod off! It’s not important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco couldn’t help himself. “I bet he fell down the stairs and landed on a vase.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter fake laughed. “Jokes on you! We don’t have any vases.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of house doesn't have a vases?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco could have sworn Harry growled at him but the sound of the school's bell enjoyed and beckoned them to assembly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stepped on his foot on the way out. The other boy pushed him into the wall. Draco almost laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Mcgonagall stood next to Snape with a rolled in white board beside them. Three circles were drawn on the board with words inside. The first circle had four words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pointe studies, Gymnasium Training.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mcgongall addressed the class broadly. “This year we will focus on many things to improve your </span>
  <em>
    <span>personal</span>
  </em>
  <span> repertoire. You all are growing and changing and now more than ever is the time to introduce your core skills.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape drawled. “The boys shall work on their strength and gymnastic abilities as such the girls will be working on pointe work. Fail this and the world of ballet will not welcome you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next circle held the words, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Body conditioning, Nutrition, Performance Psychology.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mcgonagall pointed at the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ballet is difficult, that is no lie. These three subjects shall help with your abilities to cope, adapt and work. Both me and Snape will train you with Body conditioning, the rest will be touched on in class and your academic studies.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of these words brought Draco and fear, he’d been preparing and reading about all these subjects over the holidays and was more than willing to finally start class again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes were drawn to the last circle.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Music, Drama, Theatrical Makeup.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you should well know, you are performers. It's time to start preparing like one. Everyone to the barre to warm up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean, Potter and Seamus were in the same bar across from Draco. As they stretched the boys began to chatter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think they'll make us wear lipstick?” Seamus asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d look like a twat in makeup Seamus, what’d you think Harry? Seamus in Lavenders eyeliner.” Dean laughed as his friend blushed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco couldn’t help but turn his head towards them as Potter spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a friend who puts on makeup and wears dresses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus nodded. “Yeah, half the girls here do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,  from back home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean tilted his head. “I don’t think we've heard much about your home Harry, what’s her name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean was true in his words. Draco could have guessed he knew everything relevant there is to know about his classmates, but their homes he hadn’t really thought about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t bat an eye as he continued to warm up, already improved since the start of last year Draco could see. “His name was Ron, His mum was my first Ballet teacher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus didn’t falter. “That’s weird.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean kicked his friend's foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? It is. No offence Harry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter shrugged. “There's been weirder things, He was quite good at makeup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus grained as he bent forwards before speaking. “Guess we can’t be too hypocritical, I mean we do </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ballet</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say it like it’s an insult.” Dean expressed humorously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter seemed to chuckle. “You should have seen my dad’s reaction when he found out I did Ballet. You would have thought I killed his eldest… yeah that was not fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your dad didn’t know you were doing ballet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did it behind his back for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean laughed. “Shite Harry, well aren’t you such a bad boy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh sod off!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco ignored his stretches as his hand shot up to cover his chuckling mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter’s head swilled around. “What are you laughing at?” He accused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco coughed and heaved before forcing a snort away. “I—</span>
  <em>
    <span>hahg</span>
  </em>
  <span>—I don’t know what you're talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're still laughing!” Potter's voice didn’t waver of his annoyance which only prompted Draco’s fit more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your an—an idiot.” Draco bit down on his palm and his voice came out muffled and airy. “I’d never find—I’d never—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snape seemed to finally take notice of the ruckus and seemed to face palm before addressing the group. “Potter, what have you done to Draco?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco couldn’t help but chuckling more as Potter gasped. “Nothing! He’s being a twat!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took the time to compose himself before speaking. “Potter was telling us about his cross dressing friend and the ludicrous activities he’d been up to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter scowled. “You were eavesdropping!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked forward and side eyed the other boy. “Hard not to when you have the volume moderation skills of an elephant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape seemed to look between the both of them unamused before sighing and walking off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stuck out his tongue and Draco ran a finger across his neck in a slashing motion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco wondered if Dean regretted inviting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Scene II. Year II</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>It would have been a weird site for an outsider. Had any other boy come across the site and they would have become utterly perplexed. Either way this scene wasn’t new to Draco such as it wasn’t new to Potter either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They never addressed it and they never planned too, but that didn’t mean they were unaware about the absurdity they regularly found themselves in. Had they not just been seen insulting and threatening each other not less than a few hours back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Indeed they had. Though somehow that hallway with it’s sunset tint, seemed to all but erase their grievances and left two boys calm and peaceful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco had to wonder how he let himself get like this, and why Potter allowed it. He wondered how he could never remember how he ended up in that hallway and how he never remembered who approached first. He sighed. “Sometimes I think this place lives on another plane of existence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco kept his eyes on the red landline. He could feel Potter stiffen as he spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Potter asked stupidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco found Harry not caring made Draco want to speak more. “It’s like my entire life takes place in the afternoons here, and no matter how cold it gets the sky is always stained orange. We seem to live during a constant sunset.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter was silent and Draco continued to wonder how they always ended up </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Earlier that morning they hardly did anything but argue as Snape prepared them for the rest of the year and the way they were seemed to make no sense. Draco wondered if they were rivals. It felt like a rivalry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter finally spoke during Draco’s internal monologue “I—I think we revolve around people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow. “What's that got to do with it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...there are few times we're </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> interacting. We mostly socialise after class. I mean the times when we don’t dance or study…is in the afternoon. Right now in this </span>
  <em>
    <span>orange</span>
  </em>
  <span> is when people connect, when people talk and laugh. I think we can only truly live when we're around other people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco almost laughed. “That’s oddly poetic Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sod off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco let himself hum and look at the reflection of Potter in the plastic He stared at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco almost let himself wonder why </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> boy was the subject of his fascinations. He knew though. Draco knew from their first alteration that Harry was something he could care about. He knew this because Harry hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fist hurt, his stomping foot and pushes hurt. The lack of his attention… hurt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco thinks he’s destined to love the things that hurt. His father, his mother, his dance. His fascination and love for the ballet that stretched his limbs and tortured his bones was enough proof of his little theory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco shook his head. He hated how seriously he thought. He wondered if he had given up his childhood to these thoughts. He glanced backwards finally facing Potter and reckoned— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he had.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some of our year is going into the park tonight right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter nodded hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are they doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t k—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already know you're going to do some form of sport. I’m just asking, what are the others going to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the fact that the other boys lightning like scar was now visible, Draco couldn’t help but be drawn to those out of place green eyes. They showed the signs of internal debate but didn’t waver from Draco’s own eyes and eventually Potter spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seamus and Hermione want to look for rabbits.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco looked confused. “For different reasons I assume?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously. I think Seamus wants to hunt while ‘Mione wants to find. Other than that—Dean, Lavender, Parvati and I want to find a clearing to play soccer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Can’t you do that here? Not in the dark in the middle of a park?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter took his turn to almost laugh. “What would be the fun in that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t get eaten by a bear for one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter looked towards the red landline and crossed his arms. “You gonna make a call?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco stilled before shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move over then— Wait, then we can go together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco moved backwards and tried his mightiest to not let his ears turn red as the boy brushed past in a surprisingly gentle motion. “R—Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Scene III. Year II</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco Malfoy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>afraid of the dark. How could he be? He’d grown up in the dark of all places. Spent his days in dark corners spying on his parents and their guests. He’d lived in dark rooms with dim Victorian lights not made for electricity for as long as he can possibly remember. With all this he was half sure his eyes were built to </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the dark though there was no actual evidence towards that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, Draco Malfoy was afraid of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not just the blazing, blinding kind that heated his face from metres away. Not just the horrifically hot kind that made his stomach turn and eyes water. No, his fear was driven from all kinds of fire. Even the slightest flicker from a candle could set in an unfounded panic from deep within the boy which meant he has, he has on many occasions stepped out of a room with heavy breaths.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t quite sure where this fear came from. Sometimes it felt as if he was born with it. It was oddly peculiar the scale of his fear. It wasn’t one he could ignore nor was it one he could call irrational though in fact he’d never actually had any negative experiences with fire. He’d never so much as burned his finger. Even so whenever the orange demanding element was placed near him his breath began to leave and the urge to flee spread so fast through his body there was no time to hide his fear. No time to time his wide eyes expression and take in slowed breaths when he felt as if he could die just looking at it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a bonfire in those woods, had been before Draco and Potter had even arrived. The panic was slow to start, just the off smell of smoke had made him want to walk right back to the school alone and grumpy at his own hindrances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clumsy Potter blind as a bat even with his glasses, had held onto his arm harshly while stumbling in the dark and Draco had been too amused to leave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco had refused to follow into the clearing when they arrived. The flickering smokey monster kept by Blaise taunted him and Draco refused to even step where it’s horrible light touched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked back when he realised his companion hadn’t followed. ‘What’s wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> fire.” Draco spit out the words hoping to insult the monster.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter seemed amused at this and reached out to drag Draco along further. “C’mon let's go—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco pulled back harshly without care and stumbled back far into the dark where he was sure he couldn’t be seen. “I’m fine here thank you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You’ll get cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was fine with the cold. He was an Englishman after all. “Fuck off! Go play soccer or something!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter seemed to debate his next action before frowning and shrugging the other boy off. “Suite yourself then, christ.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco was not alone in his darkness for long. He quickly found the Granger girl, who’d had the sense to bring a torch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not far from them was Seamus, though Draco kept his distance from that boy as he was walking around with a knife mumbling, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Here bunny bunny</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leaned against a tree and looked down at her, who seemed to have her head in a hole by tree roots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That could be a fox hole you know.” He reminded her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed to jump in surprise and bumped her head on a branch. “Jesus! Where’d you come from? Lurking around in the dark!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He frowned. “Bored I guess, not a huge fan of fire.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shone her torch on his face but lowered it as he glared towards her in annoyance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. “If it’s a fox hole it would have been empty beside pups anyway. They hunt at night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Golly gee,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I guess that means sticking your head in a mysterious hole is totally safe after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed to grumble before going back to investigate the hole further.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco hadn’t interacted with the girl much, he knew she was smart though. Top of all their general classes and seemed to take pride in how much of a teachers pet she could be, even though she seemed to break the rules when they didn’t suit her interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco had seen her dance though, and she was terrible. She was terrible and she didn’t care. It was an insult to the ballet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco wasn’t entirely cold hearted, there was an amount of respect for someone with no skills who still tried and had passion. But there was no passion in Hermione's eyes. No desire to dance and no desire to even be here. She offended the mere existence of hiss passion and made Draco angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up. “What? I was invited just like you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “The school. You don’t want to be here. Leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed to look afraid before looking offended. “What do you know? You're just some pompous rich kid thinking the world revolves around what you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled almost cruelty, a smile he’d learned from Vincent. ”Oh I can agree with the latter, Pompously rich also yes. Don’t think I can’t see the hypocrisy though </span>
  <em>
    <span>Granger</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I heard your mother was quite successful in her prima days, money aplenty. Do us all a favour and stop trying to be her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione gasped and stood up. She looked ready to punch him “What is wrong with you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is wrong with you! You can’t dance and you don’t even try. You know how many people would die just to be in your place! Do you know how many anxious girls on audition day could have been happy in </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> place?” He remembered an anxious boy, panicked enough to let fist meet his nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked ready to cry but he didn’t seem to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's all that shouting?” Dean called from the clearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boys seemed to all come out from around them, some even held makeshift torches alight. Draco couldn’t stop himself before shouting at the flame. “Fuck off!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter was the first to approach. “Hermione! Draco what did you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed to sniffle before turning away and running towards the bonfire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean shook his head. “Due not cool. What did you even say to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco took a cautious step back before replying. “What she needed to hear. She can’t keep dancing like it is her side hustle. It’s obvious she hated it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lavender shrugged. “It’s true but you shouldn’t say it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Potter scowled. “What right have you to shout at a girl like that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She shouted first!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s a girl!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez Potter, give her some more dignity than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fire seemed to reflect in Potters glasses and Draco decided he’d had enough of the monster and turned around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group seemed to look around at each other as Draco walked into the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take a torch at least!” Dean held his fire stick out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco didn’t look back. “I’d rather die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus bit his bottom lip. “Someone should go with him right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco who'd almost walked out of sight wasn’t able to see that all were silent as eyes drifted towards Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy groaned before mumbling a “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” and running after the stubborn blonde boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Scene IV. Year II</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Classes went on as normal after that, and Draco didn’t go to another late night park hang out. He was invented a few times, mostly by Dean though he was sure the boy only asked out of politeness. Draco couldn't fathom a world where he was actually welcome at that again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione hadn’t taken his advice but Draco could almost see the internal struggle within her eyes every time she approached a bar or put on Pointe shoes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco was almost sure Snape was trying to torture him. No, he was positive. Somehow any time a demonstration needed to be made the man never failed to pull up both Draco and Potter to the front to perform his instructions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape never failed to point out one flaw made from either boy and Draco could only remember one time he didn’t outright insult their capabilities.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The most awkward moment of Draco’s life happened during one of these demonstrations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snape seemed to take delight In his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Potter, pick Draco up by the waist and lift him above your head</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter seemed to turn bright red. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What! Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Because Potter—Next lesson with the girls you shall all start practising your lifting capabilities. As you have the most pure strength and Draco is the least hefty of the class. I shall have you attempt to show the others what they shall aim to not do</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco kept his head high as he waited for Potter to figure out his stance. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t drop me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry seemed to grin mischievously. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Don't tempt me with a good time</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco sent out a little prayer to whatever god hated Potter the most before taking his running start and jumping into the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time seemed to slow as Draco felt two insecure hands grab his waist before pushing him high.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment all seemed well as somehow Draco hadn’t immediately hit the floor. In fact the only thoughts that replaced his mild fear was wonder as he and Potter shared the same look of wonder and astonishment at their small but crucial achievement. This wonder didn’t last long however as after a few slowed seconds Potters arm seemed to wobble and he huffed out. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco hit the floor in a dignified thud. The other boys didn’t hide their laughter as Draco wallowed in his own embarrassment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Never the less Draco hadn’t uttered a single complaint as Snape set out to make his life miserable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t utter a word when he found Dean sobbing in the bathroom, whose tears were probably not connected to Seamus and Lavender's clumsy public displays of affection. He only let out a little snicker when Hermione punched a wall in frustration during a particularly difficult dance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow Draco’s year seemed to be filled with events he had no part in. Potter pretended to avoid him and all Draco could do was hum and sway.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco was in the middle of falling in love when his world ended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter the stupidly enthralling boy, he’d brought in magazines and letters from a friend. All these things detailing the specific uses of cosmetic materials and tips he gladly shared amongst the class. Lipsticks and face paints where handed out a plenty when they were given a little freedom after their first few attempts and soon Draco watched as an entire class laughed as they applied glue to their eyebrows and drew humongous fake smiles atop their own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco was trying his hardest to make his own face a crescent moon when Potter came from behind his makeshift table cover to show his friends his creation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked on as entranced by the boy who seemed to glow in his own radiance. Soft light shone through the small light feathers upon Potters cheeks and hairline. His expression was proud and delicate and his face was highlighted with gold and white bronzer. As he looked upon the artwork of the boy  in those moments Draco was taken aback at the heavy thumping within his chest though he didn’t try to place the reason it thumped so hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seamus looked on. “You're a bird!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a duck!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s a swan…” Draco’s eyes widened when he realised that he himself had spoken up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter was silent before smiling towards his friends. “At least </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> gets it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco decided that if he’d already spoken once he might as well continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—You ever heard of Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake? Probably not considering...It’s best known for having the traditionally female role of the swans played by males.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter seemed annoyed at the subtle insult but seemed intrigued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Draco would continue to wonder what the other boy might have said days after, it would have been his last mundane thought before his life changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A staff member he didn’t recognise called out for him. “Draco Malfoy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco looked back confused. The woman didn’t spare him a look before speaking. “Follow me.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco didn’t have time to sit confused before she walked off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Narcissa Malfoy died on a tuesday at midday, Her husband was out of the country while her son had been falling on hardwood. Draco Malfoy found out a week later, the day of her funeral. He was permitted one day off from school.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry watched as Malfoy stared blankly at his own reflection. The boy had barely moved that entire week and Harry worried he might never dance again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry had long since given up on trying to come to a conclusion about his opinions on the Malfoy boy. He was an annoying prat and he was almost sure they’d been close to becoming something along the lines of friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean had advised Harry to stay away from him. He said grief made people mean and that he needed space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry didn’t follow this advice. He didn’t follow it because Malfoy was always mean, and was always surrounded by empty space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry stood beside Malfoy, the entire class had emptied and the boy hadn’t seemed to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how you feel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry looked towards mirror Malfoy. “Did you look like your mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She must have been pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry sighed. “I look like James Potter, everyone says so. He died when I was four.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy seemed to think about this. “That makes no sense, you talk about your dad…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lilly Evans, my mother remarried. She died a couple years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy seemed to scoff and Harry took that as a good sign.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No offence but that has nothing to do with me.” Malfoy went to turn away and Harry was stricken with the desire to make him <em>stay.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Don’t quit ballet!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Malfoy’s eyes widened as Harry turned and grabbed his shoulders. “You're brilliant at it! I mean you're a twat but you're good and passionate and I've been meaning to ask you to help me with my </span>
  <em>
    <span>pas de deux</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy appeared confused. “What made you think I would quit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry paused. ‘You won't?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not I love it here! now let go of me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry stood there sheepishly as Malfoy pushed him away. “Besides, aren’t we supposed to be practising our </span>
  <em>
    <span>pas de deux </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a female partner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shook his head. “Zacharias Smith and Terry boot are practising together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy stood in his own internal debate before looking towards the other boy. “How did your mother die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cancer, yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded understandingly. “You’ll get through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy looked downwards. “How’d you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry let himself smile and look up towards the ceiling. “Cause your stubborn, and you’d never miss an opportunity to watch me trip over my feet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No one would Harry it's hilarious."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Scene IV. Year II</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two boys danced together that year, just as they had once before, just as they had in a new way. One danced for a passion, and a person to forget. One danced for the music, and a tune he couldn’t get out of his head. They danced together and green never left grey as they formed the steps that would form future words they couldn't speak yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their silhouettes were pronounced against the orange light from a large window in a large empty room where they forged their dance and entangled their lives into each others once more. That second year though uneventful and sad, built the foundations of possibilities. And where there were possibilities…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was hope.</span>
</p><p>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy shit this took me three weeks to write and I'm still not happy with it but I'm tired and can't progress until this is done. Sorry if there are any mistakes and I hope I didn't do Draco too dirty.</p><p>Letting this chapter into the world to never read again~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. We'll Meet Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The rest of the year. Children going through it. A runaway, A transfer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Draco hadn’t really spoken much <em>after</em>... In fact Harry wasn’t even sure he’d spoken at <em> all </em>outside of their own personal practises. </p><p>Harry hated to admit it, but those little afternoons spent amongst echoed music and muttered words were maybe some of the best. It reminded Harry of his and Draco’s first year, and how they practised in the senior rooms on Sundays, barely speaking and always working up a sweat. He coiled to admit these feelings but at least this time there was a lot less yelling and tensity.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t quite sure when he’d started referring to the boy as Draco but he was sure it had to have been recently. It seemed that they were in such proximity all the time that the thought of spending years calling someone by their last name would have been a little redundant. Of course Draco refused to give up using Harry's middle last name so he wasn’t entirely going to let go of Draco’s…at least out loud.</p><p>He spent almost every afternoon with the blond boy. Whether they talked or not didn’t matter as they opened a new book from one of Snape's endless shelves and picked out something new to practise. They never failed to end the day exhausted with aching tired feet making Harry almost wish <em>he’d </em> had this when <em> his </em> mother had passed.</p><p>It was during these afternoons when Harry could understand what Draco had meant about the sky tinted endless orange. Golden hour seemed to last eternity in those halls within those rooms and the sight of their dancing shadows would appear to be the only things that demanded attention. The light was always soft and warm despite the evening chill and it was highly beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>Draco huffed from beside him and Harry took their small break to gaze at himself within the opposing mirror. Harry had to admit his own appearance almost shocked himself. Cedric had wrestled Harry to the floor the moment he’d gotten home demanding he get his hair out of his eyes, which had then led to all his hair being buzzed off.</p><p>Harry had been thankful that some length had reappeared before school had started back up but unfortunately there had been no hiding his scar.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s looks hadn’t changed much though recently his hair had gotten a little unkempt and his height was slowly but surely growing. His sparkling grey eyes still demanded to be admired though that much Harry was sure could never change.</p><p>“Are you going to tell me what happened to your forehead then or is that a mystery for another day?”</p><p>“I don’t know why people care so much.”</p><p>“It’s a ballet school Potter, not much happens round here. We dance, we ache, we sleep and we gossip. It's the nature of such a place.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry could argue against that. ”Cousin smashed a bottle on my head.”</p><p>Draco flinched, seeming to imagine the pain.</p><p>“I don’t remember, I was a baby.”</p><p>“Delightful cousin you have there.”</p><p>“Oh and you have better?”</p><p>Draco thought about this. “I guess the only people I'd count as cousins aren’t… the best kind of people.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry nodded before preparing a demi plié to jump. Draco presumably bored with his sustained sautés looked towards Harry analysing his next moves before catching on and following. They never communicated before changing practices, there was never any need too. </p><p>“You have a brother right?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Harry replied.</p><p>“He as verbose as you?”</p><p>“Sod off. There's no need to be posh twat in Everington.”</p><p> </p><p>Draco caught his breath and coughed a little before speaking. “What’s Everington like? I've never lived anywhere other than London before.”</p><p>Harry was a little shocked at the boy’s curiosity but didn’t punish it. “It’s quiet… and loud. Most of the adults are nob-heads. There was only one ballet class, not to mention I was the only boy there. I’d never trained with boys before now.”</p><p>“That makes sense.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The way you dance, It’s very feminine.”</p><p>“I thought I was thuggish?” Harry asked, confused.</p><p>“Well, that too. Even so there some sort of niche in which you move, I’m sure learning in a class of girls and then practising with that senior last year added to it”</p><p> </p><p>Harry was baffled by this explanation to the point at which he thought it may be a joke. Draco was <span>—</span>begrudgingly<span>— </span>maybe the most graceful dancer in their year. If anything he should be described as feminine.</p><p>“I don’t look like a girl at all.”</p><p>Draco paused his movements. “That’s not what I mean.”</p><p>“What is it then?”</p><p> </p><p>He took a moment to huff before speaking. “Your movements are very… what's the word? Classical. Half the dances and practises you know are specifically for female dancers. It’s less prideful and more…<em> ethereal </em>—”  His voice turned quiet and Draco’s cheeks became an odd bashful colour, causing the boy to quickly turn away back to his practise. </p><p>“Whatever! I’m just saying it makes sense, don't look too deeply into it.”</p><p>Harry in turn looks towards the other side of the room as he too could feel an unpleasant heat in his face.</p><p>“Thanks—I guess.”</p><p>“I said don’t look into it!” Draco halfheartedly whispered before continuing to ignore him.</p><p> </p><p>Harry hurriedly walked off to fetch his water bottle letting his thoughts wander, during which he allowed his gaze shift to Draco. He wondered when the boy had taken the time to analyse his partner. He imagined Draco letting his own gaze wander just to describe the way <em> Harry </em> danced.  </p><p>Water spilled carelessly down his throat towards his lungs the minute <em> that </em> thought came upon his head causing an unpleasant choking fit that Draco also seemed to ignore.</p><p> </p><p>Even so…<em> ethereal</em>. That's what Draco had called him. His cheeks reddened as he gulped and the word thrummed within his veins.</p><p>Ethereal... Harry found he could get used to hearing that.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
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  <br/>
</p><p>Wistfully watching his classmates was fastly becoming a new hobby of Harry’s. He can’t say he had quite the knack for analysing that Draco did but he did find there was something to be gained from the act. His year was quick and fun, it seemed everyone was fast paced, goofy and determined. A mix that made Harry laugh and his new partner scoff. They were all different amongst their sameness, and it was nothing but peculiar. Harry could imagine the laughs Ron or Ginny would give him at the disclosure of his new hobby so he never spoke of it even though their calls fall rarely to twice a term.</p><p>In the warm summer heat the meal hall was abandoned for the coolness of the outside shade and Harry took his time to glance around at the sweating student body. The first years kept close to the school doors as the older years spread away further.</p><p>He found himself amongst the similar group of his year on the unused basketball court. Harry, Dean and Seamus were huddled in the shade from the basket hoop's back though every few minutes they were forced to move an inch as the shadow itself moved along. </p><p> </p><p>Lavender and the Patil twins seemed content in their big sun hats as they had the foresight to pack them. Hermione herself had a massive blue umbrella held above her head as she nibbled on her sandwich. Somehow it seemed Draco and Blaise had been allowed to share her shade though Harry was sure she only let them out of fear.</p><p>Dean turned to him. “I reckon we’ll be starting to prepare for the end of year recital soon.”</p><p>His word sent Harry back a moment. The recital? It seemed shocking that the thought of it had barely crossed his mind. Of course he’d known there would be another one—there was one very year after all— His mind hadn’t registered that fact. It was funny how something of such big importance could slip one’s mind after it had already been done once.</p><p> </p><p>Seamus spoke, mouth half filled with bread. “I ‘ope they let us dance with the girls this ‘ear.” He swallowed. “We’ve been practising with them so much, it must be for something.”</p><p>Dean’s expression seemed to drop at the mention of the girls. It was a weird sight that happened almost everyday and despite Harry’s knack for watching he found it difficult to draw any conclusions about what he saw. This being Dean's disappointment at the word <em> ‘girls’ </em> was one such thing he couldn’t quite figure.</p><p>Draco seemed to find it within himself to intervene. “I doubt it, We've only just begun really. They’ll probably start that next year when they're convinced <em> some </em>of us won't fail on stage.”</p><p>Harry’s head whipped back. “Hey!”</p><p>“I didn't even say <em> you </em>.”</p><p>“We can hear it in your voice.” Blaise drawled.</p><p>The blonde scoffed. “I could mean anyone, we all know Hermione‘s dedication to practise.”</p><p>She flinched but didn’t lift her gaze or move the umbrella. Her grip was firm though. </p><p> </p><p>Lavender tutted. “what’s your damage, Draco? You can't just openly be a dick.”</p><p>“Seems I can when it's directed towards Potter.”</p><p>“Yeah because that’s funny! This is just awkward.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry had given up on trying to hide from the sun as he laid down and gave into his fate. “I’m confused.”</p><p>One of the twins giggled. “Aren’t you always?”</p><p>He assumed she was Parvati as she was the one with the fortune to see him in general classes. “When do classes start again?”</p><p>Hermione spoke this time. “Fifteen minutes.”</p><p>“What do we have.”</p><p>Seamus sighed. “Math.”</p><p>Harry didn’t do himself the indignity of whining. He groaned.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>Even with his new found company the halls of White lodge echoed inside Harry’s ears and called on him like an explorer to a tomb. Of course Harry was certain there was no hallway, no corner, no room of the lodge that he hadn’t encountered before. Nevertheless one doesn’t ignore the call of a siren.</p><p>Harry could flinch at his own thoughts. He blamed his newfound knack of analogies and big words a symptom of listening to Draco for two years. Harry was sure to keep these in the other boys words 'suspiciously poetic’ inner dwellings to himself as he was sure no one would find amusement in his false pretentiousness rubbed onto him like mud on his shoes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Harry had never meant to hear the secret. Never mind how he’d noticed Hermione’s disappearance after lunch and never mind how he just so happened to stumble upon that specific hallway. Just because he’d never meant to doesn’t mean he didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“You're not fooling anyone.” Snape drawled in his actual pretentious way that forced Harry to stillness around his corner.</p><p>“Don’t be mistaken. I’m talking to you about this for the benefit of my class, this school…and <em> yourself </em>.” He seemed to add the last part with hesitance.</p><p>The girl’s voice dimmed. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Don’t act foolish. You're smarter than that. It’s why you don’t belong here. A medical school sure, Law maybe? Even a musical arts school would better suit your incessant need for learning. This place isn’t for you and face it, even if you graduate no respectable company would even go near you despite your mother's legacy.”</p><p> </p><p>“That makes no sense! I try just as hard as the others—”</p><p>Snape snapped. “That's where you're wrong! You don’t try like the others you just do as the others do! For your own sake leave while you can and live to be employable.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione seemed to almost cry though Harry couldn’t quite tell. For a moment it sounded like a sad bitter laugh. “My mother…”</p><p>“Is due a phone call and an explanation. I expect transfer papers by next week.”</p><p>"What if I don't want to!"</p><p>Snape turned away. "Then by all means, stay."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> We'll meet again. Don't know where. Don't know when. </em>
</p><p>“Why are you afraid of fire?”</p><p>Draco paused his humming to sigh. “I don’t know? Why is anyone afraid of anything?”</p><p>Harry shrugged. “You refuse to go near the stuff, I figured there might be something bigger there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Potter it’s fire. It’s a pretty normal thing to have distaste for. It's hot, it hurts and it’s dangerous. It’s like asking why you don't like...w—what don’t you like again?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But I know we'll meet again some sunny day… </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>He waited for Hermione to speak. To tell her friends about the evil things their teacher had said. He waited for her to complain about how she was being forced out. </p><p>She didn’t though. She went back to class, laughed quietly at Seamus’s jokes, let Draco sit under her umbrella once more. He waited and she never spoke a word.  </p><p>He’d even tried to egg her on with kind words. </p><p>“Hermione?”</p><p>“Yes Harry?”</p><p>“Is there anything on your mind?”</p><p>She’d only shook her head. “This Math homework yeah.” He’d sigh for she’d already finished all the homework.</p><p> </p><p> It had been almost a week when she finally looked up from their dinner table and announced.</p><p>“I’m transferring...to Mayville’s School for Girls.”</p><p>Harry bit back his tongue and watched the table explode. Dean looked at her with wide eyes. “What?”</p><p>"It's near where my mother lives, close to the city."</p><p>"Again, what?"</p><p>“Draco was right. It’s unfair for me to be here stealing a spot I don't want.”</p><p> </p><p>Draco was nowhere in sight as she spoke and Harry felt his old bitterness towards the boy rise up. “Is he the reason?” He asked with a light frown. </p><p>“No Harry he’s not why.”</p><p>“Snape?”</p><p>“Wha—”</p><p>“I saw you in the hallway, last week.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione shook her head and tried to compose herself. “Harry, I don’t like ballet, In fact I'm pretty sure I hate it. It’s useless and unhelpful and it kills my feet.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry knew this. He knew she didn’t like it. It was obvious from her lack of drive, lack of… everything that made all his friends. She was different. Even when she drew her closest similarities to Draco in intelligence...they could see she was an outsider. An infiltrator from the outside world. He knew this fact, but he didn’t understand it. </p><p>“How?”</p><p>“...My mother. She’s maybe danced every role imaginable in the ballet. Fathers a pianist. My grandmother taught the art in Italy. It was to be expected.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry knew of expectations. He’d iced in them and then fought his way out of them. He knew how hard they could be. Even so he’d never seen such arbitrary expectations in his life. And even with all his worry of losing a friend, a teaspoon of pettiness arose.</p><p>“It’s been nearly two years ‘Mione. It took you two years.”</p><p>"Harry..."</p><p> </p><p>Seamus forced out a laugh. “Guess you really are an over thinker then. I think I’ll miss that...and you doing all our homework.”</p><p>Hermione smiled slightly. “I won’t.” </p><p>“When will you be leaving?” </p><p>“Once the next holidays are over.”</p><p>“Two weeks?”</p><p>Lavender in all her fake sweetness let a tear fall. “You’ll write us? And call?”</p><p>The leaving girl turned towards Harry and looked on a little sadly. “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t expect much. She wouldn’t be the only friend to give up on calls.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <em>Two Weeks Later</em>
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  <br/>
</p><p>Everington was quiet as Harry counted the day’s until he could dance again. Amos had forbidden any ‘stomping around’ inside their house and life had become pretty quiet. </p><p>Cedric banged on the door while he yelled. “Harry! You got a call.”</p><p>He pondered going to Mrs Weasley’s studio, he hadn’t seen her in nearly a year and a half now. He brushed the thought away quickly as he passed down the stairs. Something within himself dreaded the idea of going and talking to the Weaslesy and his old friends. </p><p>Cedric handed over the landline. “Took you long enough, guy on the other side sounds worried.”</p><p> </p><p>This struck as Harry’s curiosity and he promptly spoke into the phone. “Hello?”</p><p>“Harry!” A familiar smooth voice picked up.</p><p>“Draco? How'd you have this number?”</p><p>Draco breathed heavily and Harry could almost feel his shaky breath come through the phone. <br/>“I’ve seen you dial it like a hundred times over the past two years! It was pretty easy to remember.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I need help.”</p><p>Harry’s own eyes widened. “What?”</p><p>“I’m at the Cathedral. I don't know where to go.”</p><p>“W—What cathedral?”</p><p>“The one in Durham…”</p><p> </p><p>Harry’s mind sped up. <em> But Draco lives in London. </em>He was almost four hours away from home and it was almost dark out.</p><p>“Draco stay where you are! I’ll come get you.”</p><p>“H—Potter…”</p><p>“Just stay there, I’ll be an hour.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry quickly hung up and paced around in a trance. Cedric walked in and looked confused by the sight. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“I need to go get a friend.”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“It’s an emergency.”</p><p>“Do you need bus fare?”</p><p>“That’ll take too long!”</p><p> </p><p>Cedric looked side to side in search for Amos and sighed when he found no sight of the man, probably asleep upstairs. “How urgent is this?”</p><p>Cedric watched the worried eyes of his little brother. “Urgent!”</p><p>“Okay… I have a mate up the road with a car who might be willing to help. Where's the guy?”</p><p>“At the Cathedral.”</p><p>“Well...Let's go then! Grab your shoes!”</p><p> </p><p>The two ran past the grass fields in the rapidly approaching sunset towards the promised car. Cedric paced further ahead, preparing his groveling speech to his unsuspecting friend.</p><p>“Harry?” A shrill surprised voice whizzed from beside Harry. <em> Ginny </em>— “No time Toots!”</p><p>“Where are you going?” She appeared to be holding a football of some kind but he hadn't the time to spare another glance.</p><p>“No time!”</p><p> </p><p>The drive seemed to last an eternity as Cedric toed the line between the speed limit and and cursed every other minute.. Harry couldn't stop himself from worriedly tapping his feet as stars started to appear into the darkened sky. </p><p>“Stop that tapping! You going to tell me what's going on here?”</p><p>“I don't know! He lives in London… he shouldn’t be here he has nowhere to go.”</p><p>“Does this mate o’ yours have any brains?”</p><p>“Shove it.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The boy’s nose was almost blue and his eyes were stained red with tears by the time the two brothers had found him, curled up beside a phone booth. Cedric hadn’t the time to berate the boy as he helped Harry usher him to the heat of the car.</p><p>Cedric's friend had the sense to lend them a few blankets and he was glad when Harry had no objections to sharing the backseat.</p><p> </p><p>With the relief of finding his brother's friend safe Cedric didn’t try to speed down the roads again and instead cruised along allowing the quiet radio to fill in the silence.</p><p>“That was reckless. Do you know what happens to kids who stay out alone at night, especially so far from home.”</p><p>Cedric wondered if the kid did know. From the looks of his clothes and heightened worried state he figured the kid rich, or at least upper class.</p><p>“I—I’m sorry for the trouble.” The kid hiccuped.</p><p> </p><p>Cedric looked through the rear view mirror to find the two boys spaced apart. Both looked out their own window and were frozen still, wondering whether it would be more obvious to wipe their tears away or to let them sit there. </p><p>“Good.”</p><p> </p><p>Once the car had been safely delivered back to its owner the three made their way to the house. Popping open the old gate Cedric showed them in. Draco seemed to avoid eye contact and promptly looked towards the photo mantle.</p><p>“Harry, go make the spare mattress in the living room.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“Draco?”</p><p>The boy glanced at him. “Yes…”</p><p>“How’d you feel about some hot chocolate?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
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</p><p>Harry gazed wistfully at his friend. The blond pampered like a wild animal brought indoors, frightened and still though ultimately comfortable. He sat crossed legged on the mattress gazing towards the telly, which broadcasted one of the royals he couldn’t bother to name.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you wanna ask. Just do it.” Draco spoke firmly and quietly.</p><p>“You don’t have to—”</p><p>“—Just ask Harry.”</p><p>Harry gulped. “What happened to Draco?”</p><p>The bond boy looked up. “...Do you remember when we first spoke? I asked about the cathedral.”</p><p>Harry faintly remembered little conversation, he mainly remembered his worry and anger. “Is that the reason?”</p><p>“No...My Mother used to talk about it, about a lot of things. She liked old buildings, which is a good reason why she liked England so much.”</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>.”</p><p>“I didn’t realise how long the trip was…well I <em> did </em> but I didn’t really care. At least Not until it started getting cold and dark. I didn’t know where to go.”</p><p>“Draco.”</p><p>The boy swivelled and Harry noticed his eyes start to water again and his shoulders start to quake. “That house Harry! I couldn’t stand to be there <em> alone </em> with <em> him</em>. It was so overwhelmingly depressing when she was sick but now there's just nothing there anymore, all her stuffs been moved. Staying there is like staying in a house on <em> fire </em>! I just—”</p><p> </p><p>Before the boy could finish, Harry leaned himself forward to wrap Draco in a tight hug. It was positioned oddly at an awkward angle and Draco’s shoulder knocked his chin but that didn’t matter as he tried his best to comfort the lonesome friend. They shook with heavy breaths like a house of cards about to fall and each grip from the other became tighter and tighter by the second, as if each boy was afraid the other would crumble.</p><p>“It’s okay. It’s <em> okay </em>.”</p><p>And they weren't quite sure who’d spoken.</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another chapter that took centuries. Anyway~ wonder what's gonna happen next. My inspiration is starting to pick up a bit and i'm hoping to achieve a time skip soon and age them up a little. Hope i can figure something out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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